


ascend

by quiettewandering



Series: ascend [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Depressed Dean Winchester, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Post-Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: Something in the world is wrong.Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.Or can it?[now complete]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: ascend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199090
Comments: 1581
Kudos: 1479
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All right, friends. 
> 
> As soon as the final chord of the finale tuned out of my television screen, I picked up a pencil and started writing this alternate ending. Like many of you, I wasn't satisfied with the end that Supernatural gave any of the characters. Not even the central Winchester brothers. It—well, in a phrase, it sucked eggs. So I wrote this as an ending for them instead. 
> 
> This fic will be updated weekly. I already have most of it outlined, over a half of it written, so there's absolutely no chance of me abandoning this fic, barring my death of course (but as we've learned in Supernatural, nothing's really dead). 
> 
> This fic also starts out heavy emotionally, but that's because I didn't want to gloss over Dean's grief of losing Cas, his best friend and person he's been romantically attached to for years. His grief was hard to write. It might be hard to read. But know that this fic starts low, and works its way up the emotional flagpole—from the elements of found family, to love, to the power of free will... it all gets celebrated. And things end on a REALLY happy note. A joyous one. I know this because I already wrote the ending. ;)
> 
> Anyway, here it is. 
> 
> I hope it gives us all some goddamn group therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes a village, folks. A huge thank-you to [aerodaltonimperial](https://aerodaltonimperial.tumblr.com), [saminzat](https://saminzat.tumblr.com), [synonymouslyyours](https://synonymouslyyours.tumblr.com), [trisscar368](https://trisscar368.tumblr.com), and [of-magic-and-monsters](https://of-magic-and-monsters.tumblr.com) for fixing my grammar, dumb phrases, and for bouncing off ideas with me.
> 
> And, last but not least, [woefulcas](https://woefulcas.tumblr.com) \- for letting me tell her absolutely every single idea that came through my brain about this, for making me the banner and feathers for this fic (seriously GO YELL ABOUT HER TALENT TO HER) and for being a rock for this fic. 
> 
> Now, without further ado:

* * *

The bar was exactly what Dean needed: dark, grimy, and loud.

He had slid into the barstool just four hours ago, rapping on the counter for a beer. The bartender, recognizing him, at first refused to give him anything. Dean waving the usual wad of cash in his face changed his mind.

Now, he was exactly where he wanted to be: drunk enough to see double, with the music from the bar’s speakers pounding in his ears as he swung around to regard the room. His eyes narrowed as he looked for his target.

 _Don’t do this,_ sighed the voice in his head, gravelly and deep.

“Shut it,” Dean muttered into the empty air, waving his hand in front of his face. The bartender glanced at him before rolling his eyes.

The room spun as his eyes scanned its occupants. Too short, too skinny, too bachelorette party, too smiley… His gaze landed on a man in the corner of the bar nursing a beer and glaring at it. Muscles rippled underneath his tight black shirt as he raised the beer bottle to take a drink.

Dean grinned. He hopped out of his chair, momentarily staggering. Bingo.

 _Dean,_ the voice scolded. _This isn’t smart._

Digging out a wad of bills he had pocketed earlier, he threw them on the bar top. “Keep the change,” he slurred to no one. 

_You’re better than this._

“No ‘m not.” Dean began walking toward the man in the corner, smacking himself on the cheek to focus. “And you’re dead, so shuddup.” A member of the bachelorette party turned her head to give Dean an alarmed look. Dean tried to shoot her a finger-gun, and ended up tripping over the leg of a chair instead.

_It doesn’t matter if I am dead—you know I’m right. It’ll end up just like it did last time._

Dean made it to his destination, slumping on the table and shooting the guy a grin. “Got a question for you,” he said.

The man looked up. His thick beard seemed to twitch with irritation. But Dean was drunk, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. “Move on,” the man said. 

“Hell yeah, deep voice,” Dean said enthusiastically. “This’ll be great. That’s perfect.” He stepped backward, framing his hands around the man in an imaginary box. “You know I’ve been to a _lot_ of bars the last few weeks, and I mean a _lot_ , and you’re the best one I’ve found around here?”

The man straightened, his glare deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just that the Sons of Anarchy called, they’re missing their leading man.” 

Grabbing the beer, the man stood, rolling his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dean added, following the guy, stumbling after him. “Most guys would kill to be extras in a motorcycle drama. Hell, were you born with that beard? Because it seems to really, you know—grow well on you.”

 _Dean,_ Cas’s voice sighed. Dean could practically hear the trademark eyeroll.

Turning, the man towered over Dean. “You trying to start something?”

Dean grinned. “Well I sure ain’t looking to dance.” 

Eyes scanning over Dean, the man sniffed. Shook his head. “Not worth it.” 

_Well, that’ll do it,_ Cas commented, deadpan, as Dean watched the man walk away.

Dean cracked his knuckles. Shook out his shoulders. Charging forward, he slammed his hands against the man’s back. Stumbling forward, the man pivoted on his heel, his fist flying. Dean didn’t even try to dodge it; half a second later he was on the ground. Screams from the bachelorette party echoed across the room. 

The man bent over and picked up Dean by the collar of his shirt, face twisted in a rage that Dean successfully unleashed, his fist flying as he hit Dean over, and over, and over—

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Sam shouted. He twisted the wheel to narrowly avoid a car turning out in front of them on the road. “Seriously, Dean? Another bar fight? I can’t take you to the freaking hospital. Are you even using your head?”

Dean held his flannel closer to his nose. His eyes blurred from the sharp headlights on the road. “Going too fast,” he muttered.

“Really? That’s all you have to say? That I’m _speeding_.” Sam threw up a hand, shaking his head. “You know, I’ve been trying, Dean. I’ve been really trying to be understanding, and give you space, and listen to Eileen’s advice when she said to just leave you alone, but I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself, okay? I can’t keep watching you go down this path.”

Dean glared at the road and said nothing.

“I know that lead didn’t pan out in Washington—but you can’t keep doing this. Getting your hopes up about something that could be related to the Empty, only to have it come to nothing. Because you know what happens when it’s nothing, Dean? This. Me picking you up in a dive bar with half your face bashed in.”

Dean turned his head toward the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass as his eyes grew heavy. He’d probably need stitches. There was probably some leftover nylon thread in the first aid kit. He’d have to convince Eileen to do it—Sam was probably pissed enough in that moment to make sure his sloppy stitching would give Dean a big scar. He could still hear his brother talking, but it sounded like fuzzy cotton in his ear.

Oh—the guy boxed his ears. That was probably why.

“Dean, are you even listening?”

Dean lolled his head toward Sam, the whole world shifting. He firmly told himself not to hurl on Baby’s seats. “Is there any point in the conversation where you stop scolding me like a Catholic nun?” he asked, voice broken and slurred. 

“No,” Sam said.

“Then I’m not listenin’.”

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking. “I’m done trying to talk sense into you. It’s obviously a waste of time.”

“Gee, you _just_ realized that?”

The quiet following was oppressive. “Cas wouldn’t want this for you,” Sam whispered.

Dean grit his teeth, pushing the flannel into his throbbing nose harder. Didn’t reply.

“He wouldn’t want you to keep torturing yourself like this.”

Dean bit back a number of choice cuss words he had for Sam. A few moments of silence passed. Then, resonating like a bell in his mind: _He’s right._

“I _know_ that!” Dean finally yelled, kicking his foot under the dash. “I know that, so knock the fuck off!” 

He realized his mistake as the dust cleared. His reply, too harsh and a beat too late, caused Sam to turn his worried eyes on him. 

“Are you still hearing him?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“It’s fine,” Dean said gruffly.

“Dean, are you—”

“It’s a side effect,” Dean snapped. “That quack you took me to said it was normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal.” Sam’s voice came out choked. Dean decided it would be better not to reply. 

“It’s been six weeks since Cas…” Sam swallowed hard. “It’s been six weeks.”

 _Five weeks, six days,_ Dean corrected internally. “What’s your point?” 

Sam looked over at Dean, the streetlights flashing across his pinched face. “No more bars, Dean. Please.”

“Fine.” Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the seat. “No more bars.”

“And no more wild goose chase hunts, either.”

“ _That_ I’m not agreeing to.”

“Dean—”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice hit the air sharply. “Lay off.”

Sam fell silent. 

Dean breathed in and out, feeling his ribs constrict painfully from the movement. In his own private world behind his closed eyelids, he imagined Cas in the backseat, sitting like any old normal day, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean tipped his face to the side, hand gently grasping his left shoulder, imagining his cheek touching the warmth of Cas’s knuckles.

* * *

Grief, as unpredictable as it was, had this disjointed rhythm.

  
For months Dean tried to march to the beat of it, stumbling, limping along.

  
He researched for hours, ignoring Sam’s sad glances across the war table. He drank what he could to numb the pain. He tried to keep to himself, not to let Sam and Eileen’s loving domesticity get to him, show him what could have been if he’d just—

  
He heard Cas’s voice. Every day, interrupting his thoughts.

  
Time heals, the old adage boasted; it was true. The hole in his chest, still there and bleeding, became easier to ignore. His drinking slowed enough so that he was sober during the day to distract himself with unusual hunts that may give him leads on how to get into the Empty. He ate more than a few bites at dinner with Eileen and Sam. Months after losing Cas, he even found himself smiling at one of Sam’s really bad jokes.

  
But the grief—looking across the map room’s table and seeing Cas’s gummy smile, regarding the sky and realizing it’s a perfect copy of Cas’s shade of blue, seeing a baby dressed in a bee costume for Halloween and thinking that Cas would _love_ that—that grief and emptiness remained, draped across his shoulders like a specter.

Grief had a rhythm to it.

  
And Dean kept limping, trying to march to its hollow beat.

* * *


	2. you taught me

“I don’t like this.”

Dean shut the trunk of the car, hoisting the duffel bag over his shoulder. “You don’t have to like it.”

“Eileen doesn’t mind staying here and watching the bunker,” Sam said, waving a hand. “She can be around in case anything comes in.”

“That’s not the point.” Dean opened the door of the backseat to fling the duffel bag into the back, which fell solidly on the unmarked plastic bag of whiskey bottles he had tucked between the seats. “The point is that you finally found that vamp nest in Missouri, and if you don’t go handle it, who’s gonna?”

“I reached out to Rick Johnson, I told you,” Sam said, crossing his arms across his chest, his face pinched. “He said he could do it.”

“Rick Johnson wouldn’t know a vamp if it literally bit him in the ass,” Dean growled. He opened the driver’s door to stick the keys in the ignition, only turning them enough to wake up the battery. Tank was half empty. He’d have to remember to stop in a few hours. 

“What I’m trying to tell you is that _he_ can take care of it while I go with you on this hunt.” Sam circled Dean around the driver’s door. “You don’t have to go alone again.”

“Sam.” Dean shut the door firmly, finally staring his brother in the eye. “You and Eileen should take that case. It’s weird, it’s tricky, and the Rick Johnsons of the hunting world are just gonna get themselves, and probably a lot of others, killed. You really want that on your hands?”

Sam took a breath. “I don’t think you should—”

“This hunt I’m going on ain’t even a hunt,” Dean continued, barreling over his brother’s protests. “It’s just a lead. Nothin’ dangerous.”

Sam’s lips twisted. “And you know what I’m going to say about this ‘lead’.” 

Dean held out his hand, counting down the fingers one by one. “It’s barely a lead at all, it could be dangerous if it _was_ something, and I’m an idiot for even trying.” Dean waved his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “That all of them?”

“And I’m worried.”

“Well, that goes without saying. You always had anxiety as a kid.” 

Sam rolled his eyes toward the garage ceiling. “ _Dean_ —”

“Serious, man. Doctor wanted to put you on meds at one point.” Dean opened the driver’s door again, tumbling into the seat. Reaching into the glove compartment, he found the garage opener, pushing the button. Sunlight flooded the garage as the door slowly rose.

Baby rumbled under his feet as he turned the ignition and Dean settled into his seat, sighing. 

Sam’s concerned face slid in front of the open window. “Keep in touch.”

“Always do,” Dean said shortly, looking forward and pointedly not at Sam.

“Dean.”

It was that certain tone of voice that Sam got—the one that always did him in. It was like kicking a puppy when it was already down. Dean turned to Sam, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine, Sammy.”

Sam nodded. He backed away from the car. Dean tapped the gas, pulling forward into the sunlight. 

_He has Eileen,_ he thought as he turned onto the service road, as Sam and the bunker became a tiny dot in his rearview mirror. _He’ll be fine._

A moment passed, then: _He_ _looked really upset._

Dean grabbed the steering wheel tighter. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Only took a second for you to chime in this time, huh?”

If there was a way to feel Cas’s smile, he would have felt it right then. Lighting up his brain, like a ray of sunshine on his skin. _Hello, Dean._

Dean’s fingers twitched for a whiskey. “If you’re here to play ‘I spy’ or some shit, it ain’t happening.” 

The voice in his head fell quiet as he turned down the main highway. He rolled down the windows to feel the wind whip through his hair. It was almost possible to feel normal like this: an open road stretched out in front of him, the taste of a possible hunt on his tongue, the strong rumble of Baby under his feet. He basked in it for a few hours, even put a cassette into the tape deck, blaring Zeppelin. He tapped his fingers in time to the beat. He smiled at the attendant as he filled up his tank at a small gas station. 

As the sun began to dip past the horizon, he flipped on his headlights, eyes adjusting to the darkness. 

Last time he was on this highway heading west, Cas had randomly popped in while they were driving to a hunt in South Dakota. 

Dean clenched his jaw, biting at the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. _Don’t,_ he told himself.

Dean had nearly veered off the road in surprise. Sam had rolled his eyes as Dean and Cas bickered about the best way to enter a car (“What are you suggesting, Dean, that I _knock_ next time?”). When they stopped at a gas station for fuel, Dean had bought Cas a bag of Cheetos to try and laughed as Cas’s face scrunched in horror at the taste. Sam had opted to stick to the back to research, only to fall asleep an hour later while Cas and Dean talked in soft, hushed tones. About Heaven. About the world. About anything.

Dean swiped at his eyes. “Fuck.” He punched at the tape deck, trying to turn the music louder. When his fingers fumbled, he slammed his fist against the dashboard. The cassette tape flung out of the deck, and he yanked it out, throwing it onto the passenger seat.

 _Dean,_ Cas’s voice said gently.

Dean pressed his fingers against his temple hard enough to bruise. In, out. When did breathing get so difficult?

_Look._

Raising his eyes toward the sky, Dean saw, because of the lack of light pollution around him, thousands of twinkling stars. They expanded before him in the bowl of the sky, lighting a twinkling, explosive path over the highway. Streaks of blue painted across the black. The anger in his gut simmered, but the hole in his chest felt larger. More acute.

Like a black hole howling, desperate to suck him in. 

His gaze slid back to the highway, remembering the way that Cas’s eyes glinted in the dark as he smiled. 

Dean pressed against his chest, making sure that even though he ached, he was still whole. 

* * *

Nowhere, Idaho. An inconsequential town tucked into the hills, it was composed of a main street that jutted through a few rambling neighborhoods. A healthy forest surrounded the town, making it difficult to navigate the narrow, dark roads going in. 

Midnight shadows jutted across the motel parking lot when he arrived. After checking in, he popped open a bottle of whiskey and laid across the bed to watch infomercials. At three in the morning, he got drunk enough to order Sam a hot pink snuggie before drifting off to sleep. At six in the morning, a very loud truck steamrolled past the motel, jolting him awake. 

Rinsing out his fuzzy mouth with Listerine, he shrugged on his coat and stumbled into town.

The lead was from a conspiracy theory group Dean was following on Facebook—the paranormal unexplained, as it were. A member had posted a grainy photo of a pile of rocks in a dark cavern. _A portal to hell? Are we all doomed??_ the caption had fretted. Dean was ready to scroll past it, when something oozing from the rocks caught his eye—a very familiar, very dark substance. His blood froze.

Sam said it wasn’t a lead. But Dean would recognize that oily gunk anywhere. It was burned into his nightmares enough. 

He messaged the member of the group who posted it, who gave him a vague location for the low, low price of fifty dollars through PayPal. Dean just hoped, as he walked down the sunny main street of the town, that it was worth it.

Four hours later, he realized it probably wasn’t worth it.

Nobody in town knew what the hell he was talking about. He showed them the picture, asked for a possible location—nothing. Not even getting out the fake badge tucked into his coat pocket helped his case. He walked the opposite way of main street, frowning at the mountains lining the backdrop of the town, subconsciously rubbing at his left shoulder.

 _You would have liked this,_ he thought before he could stop himself. _Mountains. Quiet. Lots of birds._

 _I am fond of birds,_ Cas’s voice agreed. 

Dean closed his eyes against the wave of longing cresting into his chest. He told himself, weeks ago, that he was going to stop addressing the voice. Stop addressing whatever crazy was going on in his head.

 _You’re not crazy,_ Cas informed him. _Simply grieving._

“Don’t tell me what I’m feeling,” Dean whispered sharply. He gave an awkward wave to the couple passing him as they gave him a suspicious look.

Dean turned a corner toward the diner, seeing a group of kids clustered in front of it. 

_Talk to them,_ Cas’s voice said.

Dean rolled his eyes, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself against the wind. Now, following the voice’s directions? _That_ would really be Dean losing his mind. He opted to walk toward the diner door instead, eager for a cup of coffee and slice of pie to wash away the waste of a trip.

“Are we going there tonight?” one of the boys asked, balancing against the handlebars of his bike. “You got out of that thing with your parents?”

“Yeah, they think I’m sleeping over at your place,” another boy said. “We’re cool.”

They noticed Dean as he got closer to the group, their eyes dodging his gaze. Dean slowed his pace as he approached the diner door, frowning.

“And you’re sure it’s still there?” one of the boys asked in a not-subtle whisper. His friend jabbed him in the side, shushing him. “ _What_? I’m just asking.”

Dean paused after he opened the diner door. The smell of coffee and baked goods rushed toward him, beckoning. The boys went completely quiet next to him, staring and waiting for his next move. With a frustrated sigh, he shut the door again, turning to the group. 

“So,” he said, approaching them what he hoped was a friendly smile, “what’s this thing you boys are talking about?”

The shortest one in the group straightened, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Well, if you tell me I’ll give you a quarter. Can go buy yourself a stick of gum or whatever.”

“What is this, the 80’s? Move on, old man.”

Dean tilted his head, grin widening. “Okay, kid, here’s the thing. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” He pulled out his fake badge, flashing the emblem. “Easy way is you tell me what I want to know, I move on. Hard way is that I tell your parents where you’re thinking of going tonight, and you get grounded for probably the foreseeable future. Which one you want?”

The group of four blinked at Dean in terror before slowly glancing at the shorter boy in the group. Clearly the leader, he asked, “Whaddaya want to know?”

Dean fished the printed photograph out of his pocket, handing it to him. “You seen anything like this?”

The group all bent their heads over the photograph. One of them nodded as their leader handed it back to him. 

“My sister and her friends found it yesterday,” he said, “in the forest near here.” 

“Where was it?” Dean asked.

“In a cave. Well, sort of a cave. There was a landslide down the hill a couple of months ago.”

“Blocked up a whole road,” the shorter boy added, holding out his arms for emphasis. “Tons of rocks, all piled up on each other.”

“But there’s an opening,” another added. “You can walk a few feet in there. That’s where my sister saw it.”

Dean pocketed the photograph, frowning. “You see landslides around here often?”

“Not really.”

Dean chewed at his lip. The landslide could have been caused by whatever was going on in those rocks. “Anything weird happen before that?”

The boys all shook their heads but one. Dean gestured to him. “Spit it out, kid.”

A skinny kid with a beanie on that took up almost his whole head shifted from foot to foot. He ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking. “Couldn’t sleep that night, so I was outside. And I saw stars.”

“Yeah, so? What’s weird about that?”

“They weren’t normal. Streaks of blue, all over the sky. Tons of them.” He shrugged, looking away. “Like a bunch of shooting stars.”

* * *

Twilight settled lightly on the treetops when Dean decided to head into the forest. He spent nearly an hour on the phone with Sam, arguing about him going in alone, and another hour angrily texting Eileen. It was bad enough having Sam trying to act like a parent, but now he had Eileen as a pseudo-mom to boot.

He clicked on the safety before slipping his handgun into the back of his belt. Sam and Eileen’s concern wasn’t terrible—at least not all the time. He knew that. Batting away some low-hanging branches, he took wide steps over gnarled tree roots and brush. It could be impeding, having someone yell at you for not taking care of yourself when someone needed to be saved.

The first few weeks after Chuck was defeated and Jack disappeared, Sam put himself on constant Dean watch. Constantly pushing sandwiches at Dean over the keyboard, bickering at Dean to stop drinking the whiskey and switch to water instead. Eileen took over when Sam got too exhausted. 

Dean hearing Cas’s voice was the last straw that freaked Sam out enough to call a therapist. Dean only agreed when Eileen came to him in tears. “A not-unusual effect of grief,” the therapist had said. “Especially when one loses a spouse.” 

Dean had sat there, jaw clenched, nodding along—not even having the heart to correct her.

Brushing a mosquito away from his face, Dean walked deeper into the woods.

The forest, only stretching half a mile south of the town, grewer denser than wide. Dean struggled against the branches, pushing against them, hissing when the bare branches cut into his arms and cheek. Vines stubbornly wrapped around his ankles, making him nearly tripping him into the trees. 

“Sam should be here doin’ this,” Dean grumbled as he flicked a leaf away. “Fuck nature.”

 _There are many positives to nature,_ Cas argued.

Dean swatted a branch out of the way. “Oh, good. _You’re_ here.”

_I don’t know where else I’d be._

Dean chose not to open _that_ can of worms. He blinked away the sun settling behind the tops of the trees as he approached the pile of rocks, sand, and rubble at the base of the hill. Something about the opening of the pile, too perfectly placed and structured to be a coincidence, set his teeth on edge. He pulled his gun out, turning off the safety and holding it by his side as he crept forward.

A musty smell hung heavy in the air of the makeshift cave. Dean had to duck down as he walked a few paces deeper, pulling out the small flashlight from his back pocket when the sunlight didn’t reach the interior anymore. 

The weak beam of light danced across a familiar pile of rocks. Dean stopped, squinting, and pulled out the picture from his pocket to compare. Perfect match: a small pile of rocks, tucked into the corner, no more than four feet high. Dean took a few steps toward it. 

Rivulets of black goo oozed lazily down the cracks of rocks, just like in the grainy picture. 

Dean took a quick breath, shutting his eyes briefly against the flash of blue eyes he saw disappearing in the inky substance. 

_You fought for this whole world for love._

“No,” Dean muttered, hitting at the side of his head, shaking to clear his thoughts. “Shut up.”

His feet carefully navigated around the tiny threads of black liquid as he approached the rocks. The middle of the pile was collapsed, like a dome’s top had fallen in. Dean carefully removed a few of the rocks in the middle, his fingers ginger as he took the last one off.

His jaw dropped when he swung the flashlight back onto the pile. A puddle of the black substance lay in the middle. It oozed and ebbed, like it was alive. Flexible, like it could jump out at Dean any moment, and pull him into the dark spaces.

Despite himself, Dean leaned forward.

_Stop._

Dean ignored the voice. He crouched at the base of the rock pile, reaching his hand toward the inky puddle. The substance seemed to notice his presence as it vibrated just a little faster. 

Cas inhaled sharply. _Dean, don’t._

Dean’s fingers skimmed the surface of the puddle. He winced, his skin burning at the touch. “What the hell are you?” he muttered.

The puddle of black ooze rippled, almost an invitation to find out.

It looked exactly like what took Cas. It was unmistakable. The way it moved, the thickness of it—he’d know it anywhere. 

“You son of a bitch,” he growled. He felt his muscles locking in that telltale way, his breathing coming out faster. “You son of a goddamn _bitch_.”

 _Dean,_ Cas’s voice warned.

Dean stood, leaning over the puddle. Gritting his teeth, he jammed his left hand into the puddle, down to his elbow. 

_STOP!_

The substance pulled at Dean’s arm, sucking him in until he was submerged to his shoulder. He yelled as the substance burned his skin, feet scrambling against the ground for purchase. It was pulling him in, further and further, half his chest submerged, until—

A flash of blue light. His arm, almost by its own volition, was yanked out of the puddle, throwing Dean backward onto the ground. His back cracked against the ground, his flashlight flying behind him, the prism of light shooting around the cave. 

“Fuck,” Dean said, shakily climbing to his feet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Finding the flashlight, he shined it onto his arm. The black liquid dripped lazily onto the ground before slithering back to the puddle.

 _That was incredibly stupid,_ Cas’s voice said petulantly. 

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chest heaving as he fought to get control of his breath. He dug out his phone, cursing when he saw the lack of reception bars. Turning on his heel, he quickly walked out of the cave, hitting his forehead against a rock in his hurry. 

It was still light enough to see the group of kids from before, staring at Dean in shock as he stumbled out of the cave. “Don’t go in there,” he barked at them, slicing a hand in the air. “You hear me? Go home.” 

Exchanging worried looks, the boys turned on their heels, running back toward town. Dean rubbed at his forehead as he held the phone up to his ear, listening to the tinny ring. 

“Yeah, Sam?” he greeted hoarsely as his brother picked up. He dragged his hand down his face, trying to force his rapid heartbeat to slow. “I found a lead. A real one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waggles eyebrows*
> 
> I'll be posting every Thursday, but if you want to keep updated on when I post, please subscribe to either this story or my ao3 profile! Unlike fics in the past, I won't be using a tag list for fic updates (400 people asked to be on the tag list for this fic. it'd be madness.)
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed the start, and I'd love to know what you think!! thanks for jumping on this fic train with me<33
> 
> feel free to yell at me [on tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com).


	3. the courage of stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back, everyone! I'm glad that you are!! 
> 
> Thank you so much also for each one of your comments, kudos, and subscriptions. It honestly made my week, and gave me a LOT of motivation to keep writing this story even faster. <33
> 
> P.S.: I got [some relevant listening](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Oam4p5G5GfyzLLBuMTJty?si=t1F6fk5MQL2X3MDOW7sYdg) for the chapter, since this fic seems to be centered around music for me.

Night brought a panic attack, like he knew it would.

He shook and shuddered as usual. When the sobs subsided he took a few healthy shots of whiskey to calm himself down, since Sam wasn’t there to bitch at him for it. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he buried his face into his hands, breathing heavily.

“You breathe in through the nose,” the therapist had told him, “and out through the mouth. It’ll slow you down.”

Dean filled his lungs through his nostrils. Burst the air from his lungs. It took a few tries, but eventually his breathing returned to a normal speed.

He snatched the whiskey bottle off the floor, taking a generous drink. Maybe the therapist wasn’t such a quack after all. 

Sam had been skeptical over the phone; likely thought that Dean was losing his mind. When Dean insisted (“It _grabbed_ me, Sam, it was freaking _alive_ ”), Sam reluctantly agreed to change course and head toward Idaho after taking care of the vampire nest in Missouri. 

“This is a _definite_ thing, Sam,” Dean had told him. “We can get him back. I know it.”

Sam had sighed. The silence stretched, deafening, until finally: “You should get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“I _know_ it,” Dean had repeated firmly before hanging up the phone.

And panic attack aside, Dean _did_ know. It thrummed in his bones. _Cas, cas, cas,_ the trees whispered as Dean opened the door of the motel room and pulled on his coat. _I’m coming,_ Dean thought as he piled into the car, revving the ignition. 

Cas’s voice stayed silent as he peeled out of the motel parking lot, orienting himself toward the downtown. Dean decided to take it as a good sign. 

The plan, as discussed with Sam, was for Dean to recon the pool of Empty goo in the daylight to see what they were up against—with the strict caveat that Dean would not go sticking his hand inside of the puddle a second time. He’d monitor it for any changes until Sam and Eileen arrived in a few days, and then they’d go from there. Dean had thrown an errant prayer at Jack, just for kicks—it wasn’t like he hadn’t prayed to the kid for months without an answer after Cas was…

Dean gritted his teeth, stopped the Impala on the service road by the woods, and jammed the parking brake. Stumbling out of the car, he shut the door. 

Jack didn’t reply. Just like before. Dean ignored the familiar rolling in his stomach that the ringing silence brought on. 

Last night, the trees loomed sad and ominous, but today the branches waved cheerfully over Dean’s head, illuminated by the pink dawn. He clumsily wound around them as before, cursing, but this time with a newfound determination. Once he got to the cave, he would immediately start to look for more evidence of the Empty. There had to be more of it somewhere in there. Charlie could research some stuff on the dark web, get answers—Dean broke a tree branch in his path—to see if anyone had seen other things like this, if maybe—

Dean heard the rumbling before he saw them. He stopped. His blood turned cold. 

The cave was gone. 

At the base of the hill was a small army of construction trucks. Men in orange vests stood in a loose circle, blinking lazily into the sun as a bulldozer pushed itself into the pile of rubble. Only a pile of dirt and rocks remained of the cave. 

Dean stumbled toward the construction site. He dazedly walked past a couple of the construction workers standing with their coffee cups in hand. One of them asked him a question, but the words simply buzzed in his ear. His feet kept shuffling toward the hill, where the cave once was, where Cas could have been.

 _Dean,_ Cas’s voice echoed into his head. _Dean, I’m so sorry._

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Dean twisted out of it, walking faster and faster toward the hill until he was running. Running and waving his arms. 

“Stop!” he shouted. “Damn it, _stop_!” 

More construction workers were walking toward him, mostly wide-eyed and uneasy. Dean increased his speed, sprinting straight for the bulldozer shoveling dirt out of the hill. The group of construction workers shouted warnings, told Dean to stop. Dean picked up his speed.

A bigger man peeled away from the group, as though he sensed Dean’s plans, grabbing him by the jacket and yanking him to the forest floor. 

“Stop,” Dean said as he pulled at the grass, trying to get closer. “Please, _don’t_.”

_Don’t do this, Cas._

The ringing in his ears grew louder. Hands grabbed him, hauling him up to his feet, dragging him away from the hill. Dean struggled against them, shouting, ready to tear apart that hill with his bare hands.

_Don’t do this, Cas. Don’t do this, Cas._

“Don’t do this, Cas,” Dean found himself shouting as the men holding him back wrestled him to the ground. “Don’t do this, Cas. Don’t do this—”

Firm hands grabbed his shoulders. A face swam in his vision. Blue eyes. “Hey,” a voice said firmly. “ _Hey_.”

Dean stared at those blue eyes. His shouting trailed off into muttering as the voice said, “Breathe with me. Okay? In, out. In, out.”

 _In through the nose._ His therapist’s voice swam through his mind. _Out through the mouth._

Dean obeyed. Followed the stranger’s voice, breathing in and out. His vision blurred and the scene around him settled into place. 

He was sitting on his ass in the middle of clearing by the hill, construction workers surrounding him in a semi-circle. Work had stalled around him. Everyone was blinking down at him like he grew a second head.

The person in front of him, a blonde woman with her hardhat askew, nodded at him. “There you go. Good.” 

“What the fuck, man?” one of the construction workers barked. “You could have been hurt out there. What the hell were you—”

The woman whipped around to snap, “Give the man some room, will you? Take five. I’ll tell you when we can resume work again.”

The man scowled but did what she said, whistling and making motions with his hand for everyone to move away. Turning back to Dean, her smile once again firmly in place, the woman said, “Sorry about that. I’m Jen. What’s your name?”

“Dean,” he croaked out, rubbing at his chest. It felt too tight.

“Nice to meet you, Dean. Think you can you walk?” 

Dean nodded. He shakily climbed to his feet. Jen held out an arm for him, but he waved it off.

“We can go over here,” Jen said, gesturing to the small office trailer just offset by the hill. 

Dean followed her, his feet heavy. He avoided the eyes of the construction workers as he passed. Stopping where Jen did, he stood and stared at the pile of rubble. 

“Now,” Jen said as she fished out cigarettes from her pocket, “wanna explain what all that was about?”

Dean blinked into the morning sun. He shook his head when Jen offered him a smoke, one already caught between her lips. “Did you find anything before you started work on the hill this morning?” he asked, voice hoarse but steady.

Jen frowned, lighting her cigarette with a zippo. “Don’t see how that’s relevant to you running at a bulldozer in the middle of the morning. You some kind of tree hugger?”  
“Did you find anything,” Dean repeated, slowly, willing himself not to snap, “when you were bulldozing the hill?”

Jen regarded him with narrow eyes as she blew smoke from the corner of her mouth. Leaning against the trailer, she gestured toward Dean with her cigarette. “Listen. I don’t want to call the police for this. But if I’m gonna have someone barging onto my construction site, putting himself in danger, I gotta know it’s not gonna happen again.”

“Just tell me what I need to know.” Dean turned to stare at her, fists clenching and unclenching. “Or I’ll go digging in that rubble myself. With or without your permission.”

Snorting, Jen took another drag. “Somehow I believe you on that.” She scratched at her temple with dirty fingernails. “If you’re talking about that small little cave that was there, no, we didn’t find anything. I checked it out myself—lots of kids running in and out of it since the landslide last month, wanted to make sure we weren’t crushing anyone with our work this morning.” 

With shaking fingers, Dean pulled out the photograph, worn at the edges. He held it in front of her. “Did you see anything like this?”

Jen squinted at it. Shook her head. “Nope. Just a plain old coincidental empty space in the middle of a landslide. Nothing interesting.”

Dean nodded. He pushed at the numb feeling in his chest. That was for later. “Thank you. For the information and… everything.” 

Smiling, Jen flicked her cigarette of ash. “For some reason I just knew you needed the help. Don’t ask me why.” She wagged a non-threatening finger at him. “But you should beat it before I _do_ call the cops, okay? You’re trespassing. And don’t go scaring my guys like that again.”

“I won’t.” Dean turned on his heel, hands in his pockets, and began to walk away.

“Hey.”

Dean turned back to her.

“That thing in the photograph—is it something you’re trying to find?”

Dean shook his head. “Not anymore.”

The wind battered at his back as he walked away from Jen and the construction site, the smell of smoke polluting the air.

* * *

Food. That was something he’d need before going back on the road. Food, and caffeine. 

He shot Sam a terse text when he got back into the car. _Dead end,_ he typed. _Don’t come._

The phone buzzed in his pocket thirty seconds later, but he didn’t take it out to read it. He knew what it would say.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said a lot in those first few weeks. Like it was the only thing in his vocabulary. “I’m sorry,” he’d say when Dean got too drunk and threw up all over the bedroom floor. “I’m sorry,” he’d whisper when Dean snapped at him for mentioning Cas. “I’m just so sorry,” Dean would hear him cry to Eileen in the next room.

Food, caffeine, and gas. Three things he’d need before making the drive home. Home—without Cas. 

He waited for the familiar stab of disappointment, the ache in his chest. But it never came. 

He was simply empty. 

Pulling Baby into drive, he circled around the gravel road, heading toward downtown. 

* * *

“Need anything else?”

Dean blinked up at the woman standing over him with a coffee pot. “What?”

“I _asked_ if you needed anything else.”

Dean looked down at his untouched plate of scrambled eggs and toast. “More coffee?”

The waitress, an older woman with more frown lines than smile ones, raised an eyebrow. “Your cup’s full.”

Dean grabbed the mug, bringing it to his lips. He drank two large gulps and then set it back onto the table, not breaking eye contact. “I want more coffee,” he repeated, his tone on the knife’s edge of politeness. “ _Please_.”

With a roll of her eyes, the waitress poured into his half empty mug. She turned on her heel, muttering something as she walked back toward the kitchen.

Dean sipped at the weak brew, looking out the large window opening out to the main street next to him with hooded eyes. The low hanging sun indicated he’d been sitting there for a while. He pressed a finger against the cold and rubbery eggs. They probably weren’t good anyway.

He should get on the road soon before the numbness wore off. Or maybe it’d never wear off. Maybe his heart had finally gotten in line with his brain and accepted defeat. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

_Maybe this time, I'll be lucky,_ Cas hummed in his head. _Maybe this time he’ll stay._

Dean scoffed, digging in his pocket for his wallet. “Where’d you learn that song, Cas?” he muttered. 

_Just something I picked up._

“You _would_ like Cabaret,” Dean scoffed. He avoided the eyes of the waitress who frowned at him curiously as she passed. 

_We watched it together. Don’t you remember?_

Cas’s tie askew as he leaned back in the couch seat, a lopsided smile on his face as Liza Minelli sang, the way that Dean’s fingers twitched toward Cas’s hand—yeah. Of course Dean remembered. He fumbled with his wallet, the folds slipping in his sweaty hands.

 _Everybody loves a winner,_ Cas continued, his deep baritone off-key, _so nobody loves me._

Dean worked at his jaw. “Stop.”

The singing in his head cut off. _I’m sorry._

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, his eyes rimmed red from crying as he looked down at Dean, drunk out of his mind, lying on the bathroom floor. 

“ _Stop_ ,” Dean snapped. A family of four at an adjacent table lifted their heads from their pancakes, blinking at him. He ignored them, taking another large gulp of coffee, the liquid burning down his throat.

Standing, Dean scattered a few bills on the table by his full plate. He pocketed his wallet, looking back out at Baby parked in front of the diner. If he started now, he could probably cross over into Wyoming by nightfall. His eyes numbly tracked people walking by on the street as he pulled on his coat.

A very familiar curly-haired head bobbed in the window’s view as the man walked past. Dean’s motions stilled midair. 

Dean stood abruptly, his knees banging against the table. “What the _fuck_.”

The family looked over at him again, this time the parents scowling. Dean grabbed his bag, sprinting, bursting out of the diner door and onto the main street. He tracked the man walking with harried steps down the main street, his shoulders hunched and hands shoved into his pockets. Dean would recognize him anywhere.

He took off down the street after him, arms pumping. Grabbing his shoulder, Dean spun them around into the alley between the diner and the drug store, slamming him into the brick wall of the building.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean growled, grabbing his jacket collar.

Chuck’s wide blue eyes stared up at him. He held up his hands, stuttering, “I—I don’t—”

“I’ll say it again: what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Dean shook Chuck by his collar, pressing him harder into the wall. “Huh? You do all this? You made that cave disappear?”

“C-cave?” Chuck held up his hands wider, shaking his head. “Listen, Dean, you seem upset, but—”

“You’re damn right I’m upset!” Dean barked. “You show up here the very day that rock pile goes away, and you expect me to think that’s a _coincidence_?”

Chuck blinked at him. His face slowly bloomed into a smile. “Wow,” he said. “You’ve lost it.”

Dean pulled Chuck away from the wall just to slam him into it again. “You wanna try again?” he growled as Chuck wheezed for breath.

“What did you expect,” Chuck gasped out. “You and that _kid_ of yours took away my powers just one state over. I’ve been poor and destitute, by the way, just going shelter to shelter.” 

“You say that like I should feel sorry for you.”

“Sympathy from a Winchester? I won’t hold my breath.”

Dean pushed him away. Chuck slid to the ground, coughing and rubbing at his chest. He frowned at Dean, blearily, as Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get his breathing back under control.

 _This isn’t his doing,_ Cas said.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. “So that Empty stuff by the hill,” he pointed down at Chuck, “that wasn’t you?”

Chuck stared at him for a moment before tilting back his head, laughing wildly. “Oh, wait. That’s just too _good_.”

Hot anger flared in his gut. Dean grabbed Chuck with one hand, whipping out his gun from the back of his belt with another. He slammed Chuck back against the wall, his gun pointed at Chuck’s side, away from the view of the street. Luckily, no one was passing them by or giving them attention.

“You talk, _right_ now,” Dean hissed, “before I put a bullet in your very human organs. Got it?”

The mirth in Chuck’s eyes didn’t fade. If anything, his smile got wider. “I predicted this, you know. I _wrote_ it. Little Cas dying, you losing your marbles. This was all written down.”

“Newsflash, asshole,” Dean said, “everything you wrote went to shit. You didn’t get your damn ending.”

“Maybe not for _me_ ,” Chuck said, wagging a finger in Dean’s face. He winced as Dean pushed the gun’s barrel harder into his skin. “However, my ending for you—seems to be working out just fine.”

Dean licked his dry bottom lip, parsing out what to say. Chuck smiled wider at his hesitation. “You really thought you could bring back little Cas?” 

Dean’s hands began to shake. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard. “You shut up right now, you good for nothing son of a bitch.”

“You wanna know why you can’t bring him back?” Chuck spat, his smile dropping. “It’s because I _wrote_ it. Even if you were going to beat me, your ending’s already written in stone—the heroic Dean Winchester, giving up everything for the world, and then dying on an inconsequential day in an inconsequential place. Thrown into an unmarked, inconsequential grave.” Chuck leaned forward, his eyes hard. “That’s your ending, Dean. You had an angel—a very _frustrating_ angel, granted—trying to make your story something else. But this isn’t a love story. It’s a _tragedy_ . And you’re right in the center of it. Destined to burn out like a dying star while you look for the _one_ thing you can’t have. You’re—”

Dean pulled back, his gun in the air. With a sharp jab, he whipped the pistol across Chuck’s face. Chuck cried out, holding his nose, dropping to the ground. 

“If I see you again,” Dean said steadily, the gun pointed toward Chuck’s head, “I’ll kill you.” 

Turning on his heel, Dean left Chuck bent over in the alleyway, Chuck’s staccato, maniacal laughter matching the beat of Dean’s footsteps. With a sharp pull of the door, Dean tumbled into the driver’s seat, hurling the gun into the glove compartment. 

_In and out,_ Cas reminded him.

Dean turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Pulling out of the parking space, he pressed the gas pedal and tore down main street, tires screeching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean. I feel terrible leaving him here, but he's about to get a BIG surprise next chapter.... so stay tuned ;) 
> 
> <33 thank you all for sticking on this journey with me. AND A QUICK NOTE: i'll be posting on Sundays from now on. Mostly because I'm hella disorganized on weekdays. So the next chapter will be posting on December 20th! (and possibly a little extra too, to make up for the wait<3)
> 
> love you all, please stay safe!!


	4. before you left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go, back at it again with dean and his free cas podcast (@saminzat said this to me while betaing this chapter and i have not stopped laughing at this concept)

Thirty miles down highway 75, Dean finally pulled the incessantly buzzing phone out of his pocket. “ _ What _ ?” 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was pinched and tinny over the receiver. “Thank  _ god,  _ what—why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“Driving.” The word was short and clipped.

“Home?”

“Yeah.”

Sam’s heavy sigh made the static crinkle. “Okay. Good. When you didn’t pick up, I thought… I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I texted you. I told you the lead was a dead one.” 

“No, I know, I just…”

Dean waited a few slow seconds as the headlights in front of him swallowed the road. “Just  _ what _ ?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yup.”

Dean could practically hear Sam’s disapproving eye roll. “No, you’re not.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?” Dean said, his jaw tight.

Another sigh. Sam never knew how to handle him when Dean’s mood was like this. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Sure will.” Dean threw his phone onto the seat next to him, assuming Sam would hang up himself. It bounced off the leather and skittered across the floor on the passenger’s side. 

He had decided not to tell Sam about Chuck. Not yet. It’d probably be smart, so they could keep a track on him—but what was Chuck going to do, powerless and human? Not like anyone else in that situation could do damn shit about anything.

Adjusting his hands on the wheel, Dean shifted in his seat. He focused on the lines on the highway being swallowed underneath the car as he flew forward, the rattle of the engine. The longer he kept his mind empty, the easier it would be to ignore—

_ This isn’t a love story,  _ Chuck’s voice sneered in his head. 

Dean pressed the gas pedal harder.

_ Destined to be thrown in an unmarked, inconsequential grave— _

A small, green sign announcing a petrol stop at the next exit caught his eye. Baby grumbled in protest as he pushed her faster.

Chuck’s smile, his teeth bloody, loomed in his mind—then faded away as Cas swam into Dean’s vision, his head tilted in that achingly familiar way as he said, choked with tears, “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean’s arms locked and he peeled off the highway, lurching Baby to the right, as he took the exit for the gas station.

Lit by several winking fluorescent lights, the gas station stood against the outlines of hills towering in the background. The only sign of life was a man behind the counter in the small convenience store window. 

Dean parked Baby in front of a gas pump. He tumbled out and slammed the door closed behind him. When the machine declined his credit card, he cursed, and opened the driver’s door again to haul himself over the bench seat, fumbling around in the glove compartment for one of his spare cards. Papers spilled out, along with the bunker’s garage opener. His fingers finally found purchase on the thin plastic shoved toward the back. 

His heart dropped when he saw the name:  _ Castiel Novak.  _ Dean had forgotten he had got this for Cas through Charlie’s illegal online avenues. Cas had taken one look at it, eyebrow raised, and primly placed it in the glove compartment, stating he would not be partaking in any illegal activities. Dean had reminded him that their whole  _ lives  _ were one big illegal activity. 

Climbing out of the card, Dean jammed the card into the machine. There was still fifty bucks on it. Not like Cas would need—

He pulled the fuel hose from its perch, twisting off Baby’s gas cap. The machine beeped, asking for his debit pin. His cold fingers gingerly pressed in  _ 0918\.  _ Gas obediently began to flow into the tank.

Leaning against Baby, Dean stuck his hands deep into his pockets and watched the numbers lazily climb. He chewed at his lip that was already bit into shreds. It was a bad habit. One that didn’t form until a few months ago.

Wistfully, he thought of the whiskey in the backseat. Half a bottle still remained. That would be one way to really give Sam an aneurysm—a DUI. 

Dean picked at the dirt underneath his thumbnail, mouth twisting at the memory of where it came from. Pulling at grass like an idiot—just like pulling at bogus leads to avoid the truth. 

Something nudged against his mind, feather-light. Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, “Yeah, yeah,” while kicking at the parking lot gravel. If he concentrated hard enough, he could imagine Cas standing next to him, leaning against the car, their shoulders brushing. 

Cas would probably make an inadvertent joke about the true inconvenience of a gas convenience store. Dean would laugh. He’d offer to buy Cas some Cheetos again, just to be an asshole. Cas would try to look irritated, but end up looking fond instead.

And if Cas truly was next to him right that moment—well, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to lean forward and kiss the fond look right off his face. 

The valve clicked. Dean unfolded his arms and replaced the hose. He wiped a few errant drops of gasoline on his jeans. His foot was in the car, ready to climb back in, when his eyes caught a body slamming against the door of the dimly lit convenience store in front of him. It was the man who was standing at the counter just minutes earlier. 

The glass shook from the impact as the body slid to the ground.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, diving into his car to pull out his gun from under the driver’s seat. He quickly ran up to the store, eyes scanning the dirty windows for any other signs of struggle.

The man stood as Dean approached, holding his head, staring down at his feet. He leaned against the door, the back of his blue vest streaked with droplets of blood.

“Hey,” Dean said. He tapped against the door, gun hidden behind his leg. “Hey, you okay?” 

The man straightened. Turning on a heel, he looked at Dean, a wide smile on his face. In the place where his eyes should have been, peeking out behind his blonde tangled hair, were black pools, unseeing.

“ _ Shit _ .” Dean twisted around and sprinted toward the Impala. 

A bell on the door jingled as the door smacked open. Pounding footsteps followed Dean across the gravel. Dean tumbled into the driver’s side and slammed the door shut, locking it. He vaulted toward the backseat as the man—demon, rather—banged on the driver’s window. The glass cracked behind him as Dean fumbled for Ruby’s knife that he kept tucked under the back seat. 

He unlocked the door and cracked it against the demon with a sharp jab, pushing the rest of his weight against the door as the demon stumbled back. Dean sprang out of the car, grabbing the demon’s hair with his fist and plunging the knife into his stomach. His black eyes sparked orange as he shrieked, going limp against Dean. 

“Shit,” Dean said, carefully putting the body onto the ground.  _ Hello, I’m Ron!  _ the label attached to the dead man’s vest cheerfully informed him. “Shit, shit shit.”

Before he had a chance to think, something slammed into him. His cheek skidded against the ground, but he managed to keep hold of the knife as he struggled against the body on top of him. Flashes of another demon’s face blurred in and out of his vision as they struggled, caught in a grapple. Dean tried to turn his knife toward the demon’s side, but couldn’t move his hand where it was caught between the demon’s knee and the ground. 

Dean used his free hand to grab the demon’s wrist, trying to push against it. The demon smacked their free fist into Dean’s jaw. 

Leaning close to Dean’s face, they grinned. “Remember me, Dean-o?” The demon wore a dark brunette’s face, hair falling against black eyes. “I was hoping little Sam would be riding with you, but I guess killing you will be just as nice.”  
“Son of a bitch,” Dean grunted, pushing back against the demon. The knee on his hand pushed down harder, and he groaned in pain.

“You know, I’m kinda disappointed you don’t remember your old friend Brady,” the demon said, tutting a tongue. “Would have thought I was more important to you guys than that.”

Jessica’s death, Sam’s grief—it flashed across Dean’s mind as he remembered different vessel that Brady had worn, a man with short hair and a wild smile. One that he and Sam killed. They had  _ killed _ him. 

Dean pushed down his panic, spitting, “If you mean ‘important’ like a pain in my ass is important, then yeah. You’re  _ real  _ special.”

Brady laughed humorlessly, both hands grabbing Dean’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Oh, I’m gonna  _ love  _ killing you.”

“ _ Fuck _ you,” Dean whispered hoarsley, grabbing at the hands constricting his windpipe. 

Smile growing wider, Brady squeezed harder. Dean choked for air, vision fading at the corners of his eyes.

_ Dean,  _ Cas’s voice said, worried.  _ Dean, fight back. _

Dean’s nails scratched at Brady’s hands as his lungs tightened from the lack of oxygen. His feet kicked uselessly against the concrete. Damn it—the last thing he’d see before dying was Brady’s hideous, black-eyed face. 

_ Dying in an inconsequential way,  _ Chuck’s voice mocked.

_ Dean, fight back, right now!  _ Cas roared.

Dean’s brain was fizzling out. His vision blurred.

It would have been nice to see Cas one more time. Even a picture. Just once more before biting the dust at a freaking KJ’s.

_ Dean, please.  _

“Sorry,” Dean choked out, no air left in him. The world began to fade. _I’m_ _sorry, Cas._

_ Damn it, Dean!  _ Cas’s voice was desperate, cracked. _ FIGHT! _

A sudden rush of fabric. The ground rumbled. Brady looked up, eyes wide, and disappeared from Dean’s vision as he was blasted back, hitting the top of the Impala before flying over to the other side. A flash of blue streaked above Dean.

Dean rolled over onto his stomach, coughing as he gasped for air. On the other side of the Impala, Brady shrieked and electricity crackled. Dean tilted his head to look underneath the car, tears blurring his vision. Brady dropped onto the ground, eyes smoking. A pair of shoes stood by the demon, stopping only momentarily before they began to walk around the car to where Dean lay.

Lungs still on fire, Dean scrambled to his feet, holding the knife up defensively. He watched the back of the Impala, waiting for whoever the hell it was to turn the corner, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take another demon alone, but damn it if he won’t fight until the last inch and—

Dean’s jaw dropped as Gabriel strutted around the corner of the car, dusting his hands off and looking very pleased with himself.

“Oh, hey, Deanie,” he said with a grin. “Doing all right?”

Dean stared, rubbing at his compressed throat. “Gabriel?” 

Patting his brown jacket, Gabriel looked down at himself. “Hmm. Last time I checked, yeah.”

“But… how—”

“Here, first things first.” Gabriel snapped his fingers—the crushing feeling in Dean’s windpipe eased, and his coughing stopped as he could breathe easily again. Even the broken skin around Dean’s eye stitched itself together again.

Climbing to his feet, Dean rubbed at his cheek, which no longer was cut up from the gravel. Gabriel’s grace coursing through him, knitting up his injuries, felt strangely wrong. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem. You seemed a bit out of your depth there.” Gabriel cocked his head to the side, smile widening. “Am I to believe that’s because Sam is in fact the more  _ capable  _ Winchester?”

“Would you wise up and tell me why you’re here?” Dean snapped. “Last time I checked, you were  _ dead _ .”

“Ah.” Gabriel smacked his lips, rocking back on his heels. “Perhaps this conversation would be better in the car. These aren’t the only demons that were spat out, and I tracked a lot more coming here. The only reason I even found you was because you somehow had the presence of mind to pray to me.”

“I didn’t  _ pray  _ to you,” Dean sputtered. “I didn’t even know you were alive!” 

“Well,  _ something _ called me here.” 

“Would you stop splitting goddamn hairs and just—”

Gabriel winked out of the air; Dean’s mouth clicked shut in surprise. Gabriel appeared again in the passenger seat inside the car, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Dean yanked open the door, leaning in. “I’m not budging a freaking inch until you tell me what the  _ hell  _ is going on.”

Smiling patiently, Gabriel said, “I’d be happy to tell you everything I know. Especially because, well, contrary to past experiences, I know actually very little as to what’s happening. But what I  _ do  _ know is that I sensed a group of demons gathering at a bar twenty miles east down the highway to celebrate their newly resurrected damned souls.” Gabriel patted the driver’s seat. “Now, would you like me to show you where that is, or do you want to sit here arguing until another demon finds you and kicks that fine Winchester ass?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. After a moment’s consideration, he pocketed the knife inside the lining of his jacket and climbed into the car. 

“I killed one before you got here, you know,” he grumbled while turning the ignition. 

“Yes, you did!” Gabriel praised. “You get a gold star.”

“Just—” Dean forced himself to keep his cool, holding a finger in the air. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

“Are you asking existentially, or—”

“I’ve had a bad day, don’t fucking test me,” Dean warned.

“Wow,” Gabriel said, shifting in his seat with faux shock, “things have gotten very HBO network since I died, haven’t they?” 

Dean took a sharp turn out of the parking lot. “ _ Gabriel _ .”

“Fine, fine.” Gabriel pulled down the sun visor above him, looking in the mirror and running his tongue over his teeth before grimacing and pushing it back up against the ceiling of the car. “Well, I was dead. As you know.”

“Yeah. Got that.”

“But then I woke up.”

Dean glanced over at him. “What?”

“In that big void thing.”

“You mean the Empty.”

“Sure, that.” Gabriel frowned, his fingers drumming harder. “We all woke up, actually.”

Dean nearly veered off the road as he gave Gabriel a wild look. “What do you mean, all of you?”

“Every single angel and demon that died. And let me tell you—most awkward family reunion in the  _ world. _ ”

Mouth dry, Dean asked, “So everyone got out?”

“Nope. Just the ones that could find a way.” Gabriel looked over at Dean, grinning. “I personally have  _ you  _ to thank for my grand escape.” At Dean’s blank look, Gabriel asked, “Sticking your hand into a puddle of black goo ring any bells?”

A flash of hope burst through Dean’s chest. “So that  _ was  _ a portal? To the Empty?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.” Gabriel drummed his fingers against his knee, thinking. “It doesn’t make sense. You were—sort of a beacon, if you want to call it that. Humans don’t usually do that.” He regarded Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You drinking angel grace lately or anything?”

“Why the hell would you go and think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because most humans don’t shove their hand into a  _ cosmic entity  _ that houses millions of dead angels and demons and live to talk about it.”

Dean waved a hand. “Listen, that’s—it’s not important, okay? I’m alive. You’re here. The angels in there woke up and—are getting out.” He tried to stop the smile from stealing his face.  _ Cas. Cas. Cas.  _ “And demons too. Obviously.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Gabriel frowned thoughtfully, his brown eyes catching the lights of a semi truck passing them in the opposite direction. “As far as I know, at least thirty of my brothers and sisters have gotten the hell out of dodge. They’re all over the angel radio, as you call it.”

“And—” Dean stopped, licking his dry lips. His throat felt constricted all over again, like it was never healed. “What about Cas?”

“What about him?” Gabriel asked.

“Do you—hear him? Did he get out too?”

Gabriel swung his head toward Dean, face suddenly serious. “Are you saying that he’s dead?”

_ What I want I can’t have—true happiness—it’s in the saying— _

Dean blinked a few times. Squeezed his hands around the wheel. “He died three months ago. Three months and five days.”  _ And thirteen hours _ .

“Oh.” It was barely a word—more of a gentle exhale of breath. “How did it happen?”

“He, uh—” Dean fought for every breath. It was like inhaling nails. “He sacrificed himself. He saved the world.”  _ Saved me.  _

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’d expect from him.” Gabriel tilted his head at Dean knowingly. “Always knew he loved the world too much to just let it die.”

Dean straightened his back. Nodded, running the back of his hand over his mouth, one quick swipe. “I know.”

The answer to Dean’s original question hung heavily in the air. Dean focused on the lines disappearing underneath the car, rapidly blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Gabriel, uncharacteristically silent, stared out the passenger window. 

“We need to find Jack,” Dean said when he was confident to speak again. “He’ll know what to do about the Empty. About—all this.”

“ _ Jack _ ? What would that kid know?”

Dean’s lips twisted. “He’s the new god.” 

“Holy shit,” Gabriel said on the heels of a low whistle. “I  _ did  _ miss a lot.”

“I’ve been praying to him,” Dean continued, “ever since we defeated Chuck, but—he’s not responding.” Dean chewed at the inside of his cheek. “But I know he’s okay. He has to be. He’s probably just… Kid has a lot on his mind, probably.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabriel waved at an exit looming in the distance. “This is us.”

Dean pulled the Impala off the highway, directing it down the ramp. At Gabriel’s direction , Dean turned left down a gravel road into the inky darkness.

“I can find him,” Gabriel said.

Dean’s eyes darted toward Gabriel. “You mean Cas?”

“No.” Gabriel almost looked sorry for him, his eyebrows drawn into a frown; it was a look Dean didn’t want to see again. “I meant Jack. He can’t be that hard to locate, right? All that god energy coming off of him.”

“Yeah. True.” Dean rubbed at his chest.

“Right up here to the left.”

Dean drove them into the parking lot of a dive bar, whose peeling building looked like it had seen one too many acts of god. People were milled around it, shouting and breaking beer glasses and kicking at the side of the building.

“Stupid,” Gabriel tutted. “First taste of freedom and they’re creating a target on their backs.” 

Dean parked a safe distance away, his hand going to the inside of his jacket pocket, clutching his knife. Gabriel reached out and touched Dean’s arm, feathery-light. 

“No need,” he said, nodding beatifically. “It’s on me.” 

“You mean you're going to take care of all of them?”

“Sure, why not? Simple smite and dash.” 

Dean leaned back in his chair, hands on his knees. “Well. Thanks.”

Gabriel didn’t leave the car, just frowned out of the windshield. Dean glanced between him and the bar. “Well?” he prompted.

“You’re sure you don’t have  _ any  _ grace in you?” Gabriel asked. “Any at all?”

“I’m sure,” Dean said.

“Because you made me find that portal.  _ And  _ you somehow called to me when that demon was about to choke the lights out of you. So something’s up.”

“Listen,” Dean said, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m glad you’re alive, Gabe. Really am. But if you’re just gonna sit here and grill me on shit I don’t know—”

“I know, I know,” Gabriel said, resigned, holding up his hands. “Just a big significant mystery that you should probably be concerned about but, hey—not my life, right?” He pulled at the door handle. “You still in that god awful bunker?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Great. I’ll ring your doorbell once I find Jack.” Gabriel looked at the open door and snorted. “Well, don’t know why I did that.” In a blink, he disappeared, the door snapping shut by an invisible wind.

Promptly after, Dean heard shouts and banging coming from inside the bar, accompanied by flashes of light. He backed the car out of the parking lot, orienting himself back onto the dirt road, biting at the inside of his cheek.

His mind begged to wander, to think about the angels being awake in the Empty. Pushing his fingers into his temple, he shook his head, as if that would rattle away the desperate hope that Cas was somehow awake too, or would somehow find a way out. 

Hope, arguably, was the most destructive thing.

Dean knew he had to call Sam, tell him what was going on. To tell him to turn his ass around from the hunt in Missouri and get back to the bunker. To fill him in on how Gabriel was alive, what was happening in the Empty, that Cas wasn’t out, but maybe he could be, maybe he would find the exit like Gabriel did and everything would be okay, maybe—

Dean took a deep breath. Released it through his mouth. Gripped the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to ache.

He couldn't take it again. The promise of maybe getting Cas out—following leads for months that might have been the Empty or a way to get Cas out, only to keep failing, again and again. The fallout when a lead didn’t work out, and Sam finding Dean on the bathroom floor, too drunk to even know his own name. Sam having to clean up Dean’s messes, with Dean  _ knowing  _ it was killing him, to see Dean have this—this damn hope, lifting him up only to slam him to the ground again. 

If this didn’t work out, if Cas couldn’t escape— Dean wasn’t sure he could get back up again. 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean asked, “Cas?”, his voice slightly shaky. 

A heartbeat. Two.  _ Yes, Dean? _

Dean closed his eyes briefly at the surge of relief in his chest. He was still there.

“Would be great if you were real in my head, buddy. Could use a map right about now.” 

Predictably, Cas’s voice was silent at this. Dean sighed, his heart sinking lower. 

“Well... got a long drive ahead,” he finally said softly. “Wanna tell me about those different flight patterns of bees you were going on about the other day?”

A pause. Then:  _ I thought you said it was boring. _

“It is.” Dean’s face twisted as he tried to swallow a lump in his throat. He grabbed at his left shoulder, squeezing. “But, I, uh—I like your voice. Sue me.”

_ All right.  _ Cas’s voice was warm.  _ Bees typically move in a figure-8 pattern—sometimes more for emphasis. They’ll often communicate through their movements, sometimes even in a sort of dance to show cardinal directions. For instance… _

Dean leaned back in his chair, eyes glazed and watching the occasional car zip past him, as he drove towards home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, dean. you'll get your angel back soon. i'm sorry that i'm torturing you. 
> 
> thank you so much for your comments on the last chapter!! i'm slowly but surely getting to them. they really fuel me to keep writing, so i appreciate the time you take to comment<3
> 
> hope everyone's having a good week... OH and also happy holidays!! there's some sort of big day with presents coming up this week huh?? everyone go drink hot chocolate and munch on a candy cane! 
> 
> next week: dean gets some answers, and plans to go to the empty get in motion!


	5. how light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo and welcome to another installment!! thanks so much for sticking with this fic:') 
> 
> some recommended listening relevant to the chapter: 
> 
> [Sibelius's Third Symphony, Movement II](https://open.spotify.com/track/2h1mSTIcBE7tetERDhp5ph?si=M69DJraEQtSSvNRxv_9vBA)  
> [I Like it by Cardi B](https://open.spotify.com/track/58q2HKrzhC3ozto2nDdN4z?si=p-YqnilKSySs4fO85_gQ5g)
> 
> (trust me, it'll make sense;))

Despite driving most of the night and the next day, with only a quick and restless stop at a motel, Dean didn’t beat Eileen and Sam to the bunker. When Dean came in through the door, both his brother and Eileen were at the long library table, looked up at him with concern. Miracle, lying down at Eileen’s feet, perked up and bounded toward Dean, tail wagging.

“No,” Sam said as Dean opened his mouth to speak, “food first.”

Dean crouched down to absent-mindedly stroke Miracle. “Sam, there’s literally a goddamn—”

“Food,” Sam interrupted. “And a shower, while you're at it. You look like crap.”

“We bought soup,” Eileen added with a smile. “It’s in the kitchen.”

“Gabe could be flaunting his feathery ass in here at any minute,” Dean said, “and you want me to eat _soup_?”

Sam stood, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and wheeling him around toward the kitchen. Miracle happily trotted after them. “We got bread, too, if you’re feeling like some carbs.”

“Sam,” Dean snapped, pulling himself out of his brother’s grasp, “I don’t know if you noticed, but the Empty is leaking onto the goddamn earth—demons, angels, maybe other shit. Kind of a big deal.”

Nodding, Sam said, “It _is_ a big deal. Huge. But so is the soup we bought.” He turns to wink at Eileen. “It’s chicken noodle.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, and turned on his heel to leave, if only to get away from the nauseating lovebirds. On the kitchen table there was, as predicted, a large white carton of soup in a plastic bag with a loaf of bread snuggled next to it. Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, he sat down and flipped off the top, shoveling a petulant spoonful of chicken and carrots into his mouth.

He hadn’t eaten since the diner in Idaho, so he was admittedly hungry. Not that he was about to admit that to Sam, who walked in to sit across from Dean with a smug smile on his face. 

“You’re not even going to heat it up?” he asked, crossing his arms. 

“Just tell me where you’re at with the research,” Dean said around a mouthful of noodles. Miracle laid across his feet under the table with a small whine. Dean leaned down to scratch his ears. 

Sam sighed, placing his folded arms on the table. “Well, Eileen found a few things. We cross-referenced all the events you told us were surrounding that portal you found—the landslide, higher demon activity, Gabriel showing up. Which, by the way—is he okay? You didn’t tell me on the phone.”

“He’s his usual damn perky self.”

“Okay, good, that’s—that’s good.” Sam smiled, looking distant for a moment before blinking back into reality. “So… okay. Eileen. She found a news article dated a couple of days ago reporting a forest fire in Ocala National Forest. In Florida.”

“In the spring.” 

“In _Florida_.” 

“Okay.” Dean slurped another bite of soup. “So that’s weird.”

Tearing off a chunk of bread and handing it to Dean, Sam nodded. “We checked the police reports there, too—well, I should say, hacked. And crime has spiked in that area since the forest fire.”

“Demons,” Dean said. He popped the bread into his mouth. 

“And a lot of weird miracles, too.”

“Angels,” Dean added, rolling his eyes. 

“We didn’t find reports on any weird black stuff like you saw in Idaho, but… we can take a guess that it's related based on the other evidence.”

“Okay,” Dean said, tearing off another chunk of bread. “So there’s multiple portals. Peachy.”

Sam tapped at the table with a nervous finger. “Well, there’s more.” At Dean’s raised eyebrows, Sam added, “Jody called. Claire got hurt on a hunt with Kaia.”

Dean dropped the bread, straightening. His chest tightened. “Wait, what? Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Sam said quickly, holding up his hands. “Jody had to check her into the hospital, but only because she broke her arm. Her vitals are stable.” 

Letting out a rush of breath, Dean’s shoulders sagged. “Jesus. How did it happen?”

“It was demons. Tons of them.” Sam ran a hand over his mouth, sighing. “ _And_ there was an earthquake earlier that night. Specifically out in the country, where Claire and Kaia found a weird puddle of black ooze. They got ambushed a minute later.” 

“A portal.” 

“Yeah.” 

Dean picked at the bread in his hands, frowning. “And the demons?” 

“Jody called Donna down. They’re going to help Kaia track down and take care of the rest of them tonight.” 

“Well, why the hell aren’t we heading up to help?” Dean demanded.

Sam smiled gently. “They can handle it, Dean. They’re more than capable. Not like Rick Johnson and those vampires.”

Dean grimaced. “Yeah, what happened there?”

“Let’s just say it was good Eileen and I were there to assist when he, uh… ran away.” 

Hanging his head, Dean let out a loud groan. “ _Idiot_.”

“There are good hunters out there. Just some need more… training.”

“Or a lobotomy,” Dean muttered around another sip of soup.

“Support,” Sam said firmly. “Resources.”

“Okay.” Dean brushed the crumbs off his hands, pushing the soup away. “Sioux Falls is closer, so we’ll go there.”

“ _Go_ there? But you said that Gabriel—”

“Can’t be trusted as far as we can throw him,” Dean said. “Sure, he was turning over a new leaf last we saw him, but we don’t know what happened in the Empty. Or even if Gabriel is, I dunno, Gabriel.”

Sam squinted in confusion. “You don’t think that was the real Gabriel?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Not even Cas is out of the Empty, and you _know_ he’d be first in line trying to push himself out, so—it’s all fishy.” 

“Cas not getting out isn’t a reflection of the situation, Dean,” Sam reminded him softly. 

Dean put down the spoon—hard—onto the table, pushing back the chair abruptly. Miracle quickly stood and bounded out of the room. “Point is, he’s not topside. So we’re gonna find a way to get him out.”

Sam sat at the table, back straight and forehead pinched as Dean put the soup container in the fridge. Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on his back as he washed the single spoon, placing it on a towel on the side of the sink. 

Eileen appeared in the doorway, leaning against it. Her hair was brushed back into a ponytail and she held a heavy book against her chest. Dean didn’t miss the quick glances that she and Sam gave each other.

“Dean, I don’t want to piss you off,” Sam began.

“So don’t.” Dean picked up a bowl to wash, scrubbing it harshly. 

“—but we need to be realistic here.” When Dean didn’t reply, Sam continued, “This thing with the Empty—it’s bad. Lots of people could die if the Empty totally explodes.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“I’m just trying to say that—it’s bigger than us. Bigger than Cas.”

Dean’s hands stilled. He carefully set the bowl down in the basin of the sink and turned. His voice was steady and cold as he asked, “Wanna run that by me again?” 

Sam shot another look at Eileen, adjusting in his seat. “All I’m saying is to… think about the bigger picture here.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“The bigger picture being: demons are leaking out of the Empty, in places we don’t even know yet. There could be hundreds, or even _thousands,_ of them, ones that we killed all coming back to life. It could be catastrophic.” 

“And you’re saying that I haven’t _thought_ about that?”

“I think you’ve thought about it, but that your head’s somewhere else.”

Dean looked between Eileen, who watched them with her lips in a tight line firm, and Sam, who sat stiffly at the table. Huffing out a rough laugh, Dean crossed his arms and shook his head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Dean,” Eileen said. “We’re worried that you’re too focused on only one part of this. On Castiel.”

“So you’re not even thinking about the guy who saved us?” Dean asked. “The guy who saved the _world_?”

“Dean, we’re trying to prepare you for the inevitable.” Sam’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. “The only real solution here is to shut down those portals, to close the Empty. We need Jack’s help to do that.” 

“Well gee, Sam, when did you ditch your conscience?” 

“I’m not ditching—” 

“‘cause it sounds like to me that you're suggesting we do fuck all about saving Cas.” 

Sam took a deep breath and released it, pushing his fingers into his forehead. “I’m not _trying_ to be an asshole, I’m trying to be pragmatic, Dean. I read a police report in Florida that said three little girls died because their mom suddenly up and killed them before disappearing. And another one in Canada with a nurse going on a killing spree in the hospital he worked at. That’s because of _demons_. And bad things like that will just keep happening unless we do something about it.”

“And you’re saying I don’t care about that?”

“I’m _saying_ that you’re just focused on one person, when there’s a bigger problem here. And I’m worried that, when push comes to shove, you won’t be able to help make the right decision here.”

“What right decision?” Dean demanded. “Leaving Cas in there to rot? Leaving him in there to just _die_? Is that what you’re fucking saying?” 

“None of this is going to get solved if you keep attacking me every time I try to bring any of this up!” Sam shouted back. “Every single goddamn time I try to talk about Cas you look at me like I’m trying to—to murder a _kitten_ or something!” 

Dean advanced on Sam, fists clenched. “Are you trying to make this a goddamn joke?” 

“No, I’m just saying that—”

“Because it's not a fucking _joke,_ it's _Cas_.” 

“Dean, I know that, but you can't just ignore facts!” 

“ _Fuck_ facts!” Dean roared. 

“Hey!” Eileen threw the book she was holding toward the two of them; it landed between the brothers’ feet. Both turned to look at her with open mouths. “ _Stop_ ,” she said, bringing the side of her hand down onto the opposite palm. “Fighting isn’t going to help anything!”

Sam, face twisting, signed, “Sorry,” with his fist rotating against his chest. He collapsed onto the chair at the table, swiping a hand through his hair. “I’m just afraid of what’s going to happen,” he said to Dean in a harsh whisper, eyes glassy. “That’s all. I’m just afraid.”

Dean stood still, his muscles clenching, fists shaking at his sides. “I’m done being afraid.” Something in his throat caught. “And you can help me, or you can get out of my way.” 

Not waiting for a response, he walked with heavy footsteps into the hallway, avoiding Eileen’s outstretched hand as he passed. Claws tapped on the hardwood floor as Miracle followed Dean close behind. 

Dean slammed his bedroom door, sitting on the end of his bed. Miracle jumped up behind him, whining as he laid down against Dean’s back. The cell phone in Dean’s jeans pocket buzzed as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

Pulling it out, his heart sunk. It was from Claire. Tentatively, he opened the text message. 

_You didn’t tell me about Cas._

Sam must have told her over the phone earlier. Dean’s chest tightened. 

Another text message came in as Dean was staring at the screen: _I cared about him, too._

Dean stared at the words for another moment. Blinked away moisture in his eyes. Standing sharply, he went to his dresser and yanked open the top drawer, a large bottle of whiskey rolling into view. He sagged onto the floor next to his bed, whiskey in hand, taking a long pull. 

_This isn’t a love story for you, Dean,_ jeered Chuck’s voice in his head. _It’s a tragedy._

* * *

Cas’s favorite composer was Sibelius ( _i_ _s_ Sibelius, Dean corrected himself, _i_ _s_.) 

He figured it out by accident, on a drive with Sam and Dean. The tape deck was being fussy (something Dean had yet to fix), so Dean tuned the radio to something that resembled classic rock. One minute Sam and Dean were arguing about who killed the last vampire in that nest—“My gun _went off_ before yours, Dean!”—and in the next Cas was scrambling over the back seat to turn up the volume.

The radio had picked up another station from a nearby town as they passed through it—a classical station. Sibelius’s third symphony floated crackly and soft through the speakers. Dean tried to turn to another station; Cas swatted his hand away.

“What is this?” he asked, voice hushed.

Sam shot Dean an amused look. “Sounds like an orchestra piece, Cas.”

Cas nodded, frowning at the radio. “I like it.”

“Peachy,” Dean said, reaching toward the tuner knob again, “but driver picks the music, and passengers shut—”

Cas had grabbed Dean’s wrist, leveling him with the same look he used before smiting demons. “We’re going to listen to it.”

“ _My_ car,” Dean barked back.

“I don’t care.”

“ _G_ _uys_ ,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dean, just let Cas listen to the music, okay? The station’s probably gonna disappear in a few miles anyway.”

Cas had settled back into his seat in the back, looking far too pleased with himself. And the station _didn’t_ disappear—it stayed on for the duration of the symphony, which Dean suspected Cas’s grace had something to do with. After the symphony’s last dying note, the host informed the car that the composer was Sibelius. 

The piece fizzled, blending into another; Cardi B blared through the speakers. With a wide smile, Cas announced, “This is also a good song,” causing Dean to snort his water mid-sip.

“Well,” Sam said with a sigh, “at least he has musical range.” 

About a month after Cas was taken by the Empty, Dean caught sight of Sibelius’s complete works in a CD box set during a hunt while questioning a bookstore owner. He bought it quickly when Sam went out to the car. 

_Forever haunted by his own failures as a violinist and nervousness in front of crowds, Sibelius often struggled from depressive episodes,_ the back jacket read. _His music often reflects the states of mind he was in._

Dean listened to all seven of the symphonies in the box set, but the third was still his favorite. He could still remember peeking in the rearview mirror at Cas’s face, tranquil and settled as he listened, a small smile on his face. 

Dean still dreamed about it, even now: the sounds of a sorrowful string section bursting through the car, and the contented smile on Cas’s face. 

* * *

“Hey. _Hey_!”

Dean startled awake, his hand groping around for what he thought was his pillow. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey instead, his fingers fumbling, holding it up as a makeshift weapon. Blinking the crust out of his eyes, he squinted up at whoever woke him.

“Geez,” someone drawled; Dean immediately recognized Gabriel’s voice. “This place looked a lot better the last time I was here.”

Dean groaned and pushed himself up to sit. He was still on the floor, where he had drunk himself senseless last night. With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, the lights in the bedroom burst to life, burning Dean’s retinas. 

“Thought you were gonna take longer,” Dean muttered. 

“Well, I’m in the business of getting things done.” Gabriel patted Dean’s head. “Had a hard night, did we?”

“Get away,” Dean grumbled, weakly smacking at Gabriel’s hands. 

“You know, I don’t think my brother sacrificed himself just for you to drink yourself stupid every night.” He smiled pleasantly in response to Dean’s glare. “Too on the nose?”

“How I live is none of your goddamn business,” Dean snapped, hauling himself to his feet. Empty whiskey bottles clanked as he kicked them across the floor, stumbling to his dresser and pulling out a flannel. “Are you just here to bitch at me or do you actually have news?”

“In fact, I do.” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “Tried to go tell Sam first, but him and Eileen were asleep. And looking annoyingly domestic.”

“Yeah, they have that effect,” Dean said, shrugging into his flannel. “So? What’d you find out?”

“Let’s walk and talk,” Gabriel offered, waving his hand to open the door of Dean’s bedroom. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your bedroom smells like someone died in here.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulled on his shoes and followed Gabriel out the door. On the other side of it was Miracle, panting happily—Dean must have taken him out and been too drunk to remember it. He gave the dog a cursory pet on the head before trailing Gabriel down the hallway. 

“I kept getting distracted because I kept seeing _so_ many of my brothers and sisters I thought were dead,” Gabriel explained as they walked toward the war room. “Like Felicity—now _that_ was awkward, because I slept with her human vessel a couple of centuries ago. Needless to say, that did _not_ end well.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, gusting out a sigh. “Okay. And?”

“And she kept avoiding me whenever we saw each other in Heaven. _Real_ awkward work meetings, if you know what I mean.”

“No, Jesus— _and_ did you find the kid?” Dean barked, walking faster to come up beside Gabriel. 

“I did.” Gabriel set his lips into a firm line. “Turns out he was in Heaven, like I thought.”

“What did he say?” Dean demanded, rounding the corner into the war room. “Is he gonna help get Cas out of the Empty?”

Dean stopped when he got to the doorway. Standing in the middle of the room, hands at his sides and a hesitant look on his face, was Jack. He held up a hand to wave in that familiar and awkward way. “Hey, Dean.” 

Miracle bumped into Dean’s leg, sitting expectantly at his feet. It jolted Dean out of his shock of not having seen Jack in months—at how utterly the same he looked. Dean cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Now,” Gabriel said, rubbing his hands together, “do _I_ get the gold star this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a biiiit shorter than my usual, but that's because the next chapter is a bit massive - almost 6k - so look forward to that! :D
> 
> i hope that everyone had a wonderful Christmas if that's your thing, and just a relaxing weekend in general if it's not. <3 thank you for all your amazing comments, I'm still working on answering each and every one of them. You're all the best for reading, commenting, and supporting this fic!! It means a lot to me.
> 
> if you wanna come scream at me, [here is my tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com) ;)


	6. carries on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome back, friends. sorry I'm posting this a little later in the day than usual, i went cross country skiing. had to recover falling on my butt a lot of times since it was my first time skiing ever. :p
> 
> also! if anyone's interested, I've created [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1iKUctQEQyWAWrzd2FLUeH?si=GepaKREHRJKAivXkks95YA) for this fic. it has some good moody tunes, if that's your thing. 
> 
> ok. enough of me. time for the chapter. :)

Sam and Eileen came stumbling into the war room just minutes after Dean called Sam, barking at him to wake up. Eileen had pulled on a sweater, her hair frizzy from sleep; Sam was in a hastily thrown together outfit of sweatpants and a lopsided blue sweatshirt. 

Dean had grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the war room’s cupboard and poured himself a glass. Jack was sitting at the opposite end of the table with his hands clasped in front of him, looking at anything but Dean. 

Sam ran his hand through his hair, looking nervously between them. “Jack, it’s uh… it’s really good to see you. How have you been?” 

Jack smiled; the first glimpse of emotion Dean had seen from him. “I’m okay, Sam. How are you?”

“Great, uh—good. Been better, I guess.” Sam flashed a quick and nervous smile before sitting in a chair between Dean and Jack. Eileen slowly sat beside him. “Is Gabriel here?”

“Kitchen,” Dean said, plugging a thumb over his shoulder. “He wanted snacks, apparently.”

Always one to answer a cue, Gabriel waltzed in at the tail-end of Dean’s sentence, his arms full with chip bags and cookies from the cupboard. He brightened when he saw Sam and Eileen. “Well, well, looks like our lovebirds are awake. Can I offer you two some breakfast? Ritz chips, maybe some Oreos?”

Eileen stared at Gabriel with wide eyes, then turned to Sam. She asked something in ASL; Dean knew enough to translate the word _what_ but not the rest. 

“Yeah, I’m an angel,” Gabriel said, smoothly spilling his pile of salty-sugary treats on the table. “And no, I’m not like the others.”

Eileen’s eyebrows shot up, evidently surprised that Gabriel understood her. Tentatively, she signed something to Gabriel. Grinning, Gabriel held a fist out in front of him, nodding his head. Eileen’s face split into a huge smile.

“And here I was thinking I was getting semi-fluent,” Sam said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’m never going to keep up with you two.”

Eileen shook her head, patting his arm reassuringly. “Not true. You’re getting better.”

“It’s okay, Sam was always intimidated by my wit and charm,” Gabriel said, spreading himself out onto a chair and ripping open a bag of Oreos. He winked, popping a cookie into his mouth. “It’s nothing new.”

Dean clutched his glass of whiskey more tightly, the sound of Gabriel’s crunching punching at his headache. “Think we’ll get to the damn point anytime soon?”

Gabriel, mouth wide, gestured at Eileen and Sam. “Look, I’m just making pleasant acquaintances. What, do you want me to _ignore_ Eileen? I can’t just blur her out like that!”

Snatching a stranded bag of Funyuns from the middle of the table, Dean ripped it open and popped a greasy ring into his mouth, glaring at Gabriel as he bit down on it. 

“So Jack, where have you even… been all this time?” Sam asked, turning to him. “Is everything okay?”

Jack’s lips set into a thin line as he placed his hands on the table. “No. Not exactly.”

Dean crunched on a second Funyun. “That why you didn’t answer any of our damn prayers?”

Sam shot his brother a warning look; Jack nodded. 

“Yes. And I’m sorry about that. As soon as Amara merged with me and I became god, it just… everything felt like it was exploding.” He pressed his fingers into his temple, frowning. “Every voice, every soul… every problem on Earth… it all hit me at once. Like I had to go… solve everything. I couldn’t silence it.”

“You had the literal weight of the world on your shoulders,” Sam agreed, voice soft.

“Not just that but Heaven, too. It’s… it’s in shambles.” Jack bit at his lip. “I felt the need to rebuild it, to help the souls that were already there. And then when Gabriel found me, told me what was happening with the Empty—” His fingernails went white as he pressed them harder into his temple, “—I just couldn’t believe I didn’t even notice the danger before.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Gabriel said, twisting to the side and catching Ritz chip he tossed toward his mouth. “When OG dad was around, he barely did shit. At least you’re _trying_.”

“Gabe’s right, Jack,” Sam said. “You’re doing your best. That’s what matters.”

Dean scoffed behind a gulp of his whiskey. _Yeah, right._

 _Dean,_ Cas’s voice chastised.

Hearing Dean’s reaction, Jack’s puppy dog eyes turned toward him; Dean ignored it.

“Anyway,” Sam said firmly, smoothly sidestepping around the issue, “you’re here now. So tell us how we can help.”

Jack placed his hands in his lap, nodding. “Well, as Dean discovered, the Empty is… leaking, so to speak. Portals are popping up all over the world—and since our soul bomb woke up the demons and angels in the Empty months ago, they’re finding ways to escape through these portals.” 

“Yeah, the Empty is wounded and throwing a temper tantrum,” Dean said, hunching over his whiskey glass. “We know all that already.”

“I—” Jack licked his lips, hesitant. “There’s more to it, though.” 

“The Empty’s only _kind of_ leaking,” Gabriel said as he swung his legs up, heels hitting and shaking the table as he leaned back in his chair. “Right now, all that’s passing through those portals, like our dear old Dean discovered, are demons and angels who are able to find the exit signs. But soon, something _else_ is going to start leaking out of it. And even a small amount of it could decimate the entirety of North America.”

Sam exchanged a worried frown with Eileen. “Wait. So you’re talking about an apocalypse?”

“Nope.” Gabriel licked errant crumbs off his fingers. “Can’t really have an apocalypse if there’s no world left to… apocalate. That’s a word, right?”

“Hang on,” Eileen said, holding up a hand. “Are you saying that the Empty could somehow make the world _explode_?”

“Unfortunately… yes,” Jack admitted.

“How is that even possible?”

With a flick of his wrist, Gabriel snatched the Funyuns from Dean. He held one up high, dropping it into his mouth before fixing Eileen with a grin. “How much do you know about the Big Bang Theory?”

“The show?” Dean asked flatly. 

“No, sweetcheeks,” Gabriel said, “like the real science-y stuff.”

“And how the hell is that relevant?”

“Or maybe you’ve heard of the shuttlecock theory? Now there’s a fun one,” Gabriel added, wiggling his eyebrows in Dean’s direction.

“How about you tell us what you’re talking about, Gabe,” Sam cut in as Dean straightened, ready to launch over the table and grab Gabriel by the throat, “in _clear_ terms.”

“I think I’m being as clear as I can be. If you don’t get it, then that’s a personal problem.”

Rubbing at his temple, Jack said, “He’s talking about how the Empty is a result of the big bang humans theorize about. That our universe was a vast stretch of emptiness before the singular moment when time and space smoothed out.”

“That there was nothing in the world, and then there was something,” Eileen added.

Jack nodded. “Yes. But there’s unfortunately more to it.”

Gabriel leaned forward toward Eileen, his grin growing wider. “Ever heard of antimatter?”

Frowning, Eileen began, “What does that have to do with—” Her eyes went wide. Cutting off her spoken speech, she switched to ASL instead. Gabriel’s smile dropped as he replied to her, his expression grave. 

Dean looked at Sam. “You catching any of this?”

Sam held up a hand and shushed him, eyes never leaving Eileen or Gabriel’s conversation. Dean watched as the color slowly drained from his brother’s face.

“Okay, so you are catching it,” Dean grumbled into his whiskey. His eyes flickered to Jack, whose face was pinched as he rubbed at his head. 

“Wait, wait,” Sam said, waving his hand. “I didn’t get that last part. You’re going too fast.”

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head at Eileen. “Gotta give this boy more ASL classes.”

“I’m trying my best,” she said with a shrug.

“Can someone just translate for the class?” Dean asked sharply.

Eileen looked at Gabriel expectantly; Gabriel swept a hand in front of him, saying, “Hey, you go for it.” 

Drumming her fingers against the table, Eileen bit her lip, frowning. She snatched a bag of crackers from the middle of the table, sliding it in front of her and taking two out. She placed them next to each other, announcing, “So basically, Hawking was wrong.” 

Silence hung in the room. Dean barked out a laugh. 

“Wait, you’re talking about _the_ Hawking,” he asked, deadpan. “Stephen Hawking? Smartest guy on the planet?”

“He was almost right, to be fair.” Gabriel tapped at his chin. “Just got a few crucial things wrong. Based on what I saw in the Empty, at least.”

Eileen waved her hand to get Dean’s attention, pointing to the crackers. “Hawking theorized that there was nothing in space, and no concept of time, right?” She took the crackers off the table, holding them in her hands. “Nothing.” 

“Sure,” Dean said. “Got that part.”

“Then the big bang happened,” Eileen continued, throwing a cracker onto the table, its pieces flying everywhere, “and time happened. Split apart. Past, present, future, all at once.”

“That’s the shuttlecock theory,” Sam piped in. 

Eileen nodded. “Yes.” She brushed the cracker pieces away. “But Gabriel is saying that there wasn’t _nothing_. Just the absence of something.” 

“Yeah, the Empty,” Dean said.

Eileen shook her head. “No.” She placed the other cracker, whole and round, onto the table. “Another universe.”

Dean blinked at the cracker. “Wanna run that by me again?”

“Not the kind you think,” Gabriel said, his feet hitting the floor as he leaned over the table. “Not like this one. Or the alternate worlds that my dad screwed around with. It’s not even a universe, per-say—think of it like a backwards universe.”

Dean blinked again. “Huh?”

“It wasn’t that there was nothing,” Jack said quietly, “just that there wasn’t something.”

“You all have to quit the goddamn Gollum riddles before I lose it,” Dean snapped.

“The _antimatter_ ,” Eileen said, emphatically tapping the table. “It has to do with the antimatter.” 

Looking between the broken pieces of cracker on the table and the whole one, Dean shook his head helplessly. Eileen turned the in-tact cracker over, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “Wait… you’re saying a universe where everything is backwards. _Everything_.”

“Yes,” Eileen said. “Time, space, matter… all of it.”

“The Empty is just a cosmic entity that presides over that world,” Jack said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I thought once that the Empty was the universe itself but… it’s just something that guides the angels and demons to that universe to be locked away. Chuck must have made a deal with it, ages ago.”

“A deal?” Dean asked woodenly. 

“When angels choke, like yours truly,” Gabriel said, “we don’t have a place for our souls to go because, well—” he shrugged, “—we have none. So we need a place to sleep, so to speak.”

“If time moves backwards there, it makes sense that angels would dream about their past regrets,” Sam added thoughtfully. “Time moving toward the past rather than the future.”

Dean clenched his teeth together, a muscle in his jaw jumping. The Funyuns in his stomach rolled unpleasantly. 

“We know from experimental research that single particles of antimatter are fine, but anything more on Earth can be catastrophic,” Eileen said. 

“So that black substance—” Sam began.

“Couldn’t be the antimatter,” Dean said hoarsely. “I saw it…” He swallowed hard, tried again. “I saw it suck Cas up. Nothing exploded, nothin’ happened.” 

“The Empty itself isn’t antimatter,” Jack explained. “It simply comes from a universe with it. It’s not the Empty leaking onto Earth but… the universe itself. And the Empty is letting it because we made it angry.”

“That bomb _did_ do a doozy on it,” Gabriel said with a grin, lacing his hands behind his head. “Good job on that, by the way.”

“So how do we stop it?” Dean asked. “What do we do?”

Jack glanced at Gabriel; a small muscle in Gabriel’s face twitched. 

“What?” Dean barked. “What aren’t you sayin’?”

“Well, first of all, _we_ don’t do anything,” Gabriel said. “Jack here has enough juice to mend that—tear between the two universes, if you will. No more geological events caused by explosions, no more possible world implosion.” 

“Well, that’s great!” Sam said, a wide smile stretching his face. “That means there’s a solution.”

“Uh-huh. There _is_ , but…” Gabriel smacks his lips, rocking back and forth in his chair. “Hmm. How to put this without Dean over here having his _own_ explosion…” 

“I have to seal the Empty,” Jack said. His eyes finally met Dean’s. “I have to make sure nothing gets out—or in—anymore.” 

Dean met Jack’s stare, unblinking. His hand minutely shook where he gripped his glass.

“Completely… close it off?” Sam whispered.

“Yes.” Jack didn’t break Dean’s stare. “I have to make sure the antimatter can’t leak out anymore. That _nothing_ can come out.”

Silence hung heavy over the table. Dean took a sharp last sip of whiskey before slamming it down onto the table. 

“You know,” he said, wagging his finger at Jack, “you’re a piece of work, you know that? A piece of—goddamn work.”

“Dean,” Sam began.

“You say you’re not gonna be like Chuck, that you’re not gonna interfere—but that’s bullshit, isn’t it?” Dean held his hands out at his sides, smiling without an ounce of humor. “This is all just a fucking game to you, right? Just like it was to Chuck.”

“It’s not a game to me,” Jack said, his voice wavering.

Smile dropping, Dean slammed his palm onto the table, making it shake. “Well if it’s not a goddamn game, then why are you acting like it is?” 

Jack stood, fists clenched. “I had to think about the world. I couldn’t just save Castiel like I wanted to. If I had—”

“If you _had_ , that would mean that the new god has a fucking conscience, and we can’t go having that, can we?” Dean growled, standing. “That would mean admitting that you gave a flying fuck about the guy who, by the way, called you a _son_ —”

“There’s suffering in the world,” Jack said, his face contorting, “suffering that I had to help. It doesn’t matter who I care about. I had to _help_.”

“And what about Cas’s suffering?” Dean yelled. He pounded a fist on his chest. “What about what he goddamn feels, huh? Do you know what it’s been like, praying to you, to Cas, every _goddamn night_ and not getting an answer?”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. “I’m—”

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’, kid, I’m going to throw this table at you,” Dean snapped. He smacked it again for good measure. “Cas saved the goddamn world that you obviously care about more than us, so where the fuck is his credit for that? Huh? Who the fuck’s gonna _save him_?”

Sam held out his hands between them, slowly rising. “Dean, you need to calm down. Jack didn’t mean that he doesn’t care about Cas. We all do. We just—”

“Then why am I the only one saying it’s a _bad thing_ to just lock him up there forever?” Dean yelled. “Why am I the only one finding this to be goddamn _wrong_?”

“I care,” Jack protested, the tears tracking down his cheeks now.

“You only care because you feel guilty,” Dean shot back. 

“I loved Castiel. I love him too. Stop saying I don’t.”

“ _Bullshit_.”

Jack’s eyes glowed a bright yellow as his face contorted. “Stop.”

“Dean,” Sam warned.

But the words were coming without his control, spilling out of him— “You called him a father, and then you abandoned him. Abandoned _us_ . You couldn’t even bother to _help_ —”

“Stop it!” Jack shouted. A light emulated from him, shooting in every direction. The lightbulbs in the room sparked, bursting. Sam put his arms over Eileen as they both crouched down. Dean shielded his face from the rapid winds. 

“Jack.” Gabriel’s voice pierced through the howling and shattering of glass and chaos. “ _Jack_.”

The noise settled; the lights flickered back on. Jack stood, chest heaving, fists clenched. The light in his eyes faded out. With a hitched breath, Jack’s shoulders sagged.

Gabriel clicked his tongue, shaking his head at Dean. “Pissing off a god in true Winchester fashion.” 

“That was _really_ stupid,” Sam agreed, helping Eileen to her feet. 

“And if you’d just calm down for one minute,” Gabriel said, waving a hand at Jack, “you could hear _my_ plan for this whole… situation. Instead of going off on the poor little guy.”

Jack glared at Gabriel, swiping the back of his hand across his nose. “I’m not little.”

“You became a god four months ago. You’re tiny.”

Dean breathed heavily, forcing himself to calm down. He jabbed a finger at Gabriel. “ _What_ plan?”

“It’s something we cooked up on the way over here. A way to get Cas back, by the way, before you make it personal and go accusing Jack here again.” 

Dean asked Jack, “What’s he talking about?” 

Jack stared down at his shoes, glaring. 

“ _Jack_ ,” Dean said, his voice on the knife’s edge of desperation.

Slowly, Jack raised his gaze to Dean’s. “I think I have a way to get you in, so that you can look for Castiel. If you can find him before I seal the tear between our universes, then I can pull both of you out.”

“And why the hell,” Dean said, slowly, “didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because you could die, Dean,” Jack said.. “Because you could die, and I don’t need to lose _two_ people I consider my parents. Losing Castiel—” He cut off, shaking his head. “I can’t do that again.”

The fight drained from Dean’s shoulders. The red hot anger faded from his vision. What was left in its place was Jack, a god with all the power in the world, looking as scared and unsure as a powerless human. 

Just as scared as Dean.

 _Go to him,_ Cas’s voice said. _Please, Dean._

It was Cas’s voice that almost did him in. His knees got a little weaker, his head a little heavier. He took a shaky breath through his nose.

Dean sidestepped away from the table, began to walk. His trajectory was straight toward Jack, and he didn’t stop, not even when he heard Sam inhale a sharp breath.

 _You think that anger is what drives you,_ the memory of Cas’s voice echoed. _That it’s who you are._

Dean grabbed Jack into a firm hug, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other pressed against his back. 

_It’s not._

Jack sagged in Dean’s arms. His hands clutched the back of Dean’s coat, his shoulders shaking with silent cries. Dean stared straight ahead into the middle distance, grasping Jack tighter. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” he muttered. Jack nodded against his chest, sniffling, his arms a vice around Dean’s waist.

 _Thank you, Dean,_ floated Cas’s whisper.

Dean broke the hug, patting Jack’s shoulder. “Shouldn't have said those things. It was unfair.” 

Jack sniffed. “It's okay.” 

Sam watched them, his face drawn with exhaustion and worry. When Dean met his eye, he nodded gratefully. 

“Tell me about this plan,” Dean said, clearing his throat. 

“It doesn’t have a high success rate,” Jack said, rubbing at his eyes.

Dean crossed his arms. “Tell me anyway.”

Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you were to go to the Empty, into that universe, you’d die. So I… I can get your consciousness into the Empty. Remake a body for you.”

“So Dean's … real body would stay here?” Sam asked skeptically. 

Jack nodded. 

“And there’s a _lot_ we don’t know about the Empty,” Gabriel said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I can tell you all the info I got from when I was there, but… there’s just a whole lot of nothing. We have no idea how it all works, where Cas is. You wouldn't really have a road map.” 

“Okay.” Dean rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’ll do it.”

Sam stepped forward, the chair behind him clattering. “Dean—”

“Cas would do it for me,” Dean said. “You know he would.”

“That’s not the _point_. Jack said it himself, you could die.” 

“I’m doing it.” Dean turned to Jack, face firm, knowing if he looked at Sam he would snap again. “When can we start?”

“I—” Jack’s eyes trailed nervously between Sam and Dean. “We need to go to one of the portals. That way the Empty is less likely to sense you, so to speak.” 

“Great. So Sioux Falls.”

“Not so fast, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet. “You can’t just go jumping in without a floaty toy. I’ll have to give you the scoop on what’s in there. How to navigate around.”

Dean shot a grin, devoid of any humor, toward Gabriel. “Great. So you both can fly us there.” 

Sam shook his head. “Dean—”

“Get ready, if you wanna get on boaed,” Dean said, clicking his fingers at Sam as he twisted around toward the door. Miracle scrambled to his feet and followed close behind to the bunker’s stairs. 

“We need to talk about this,” Sam said, walking around the table. “You can’t just go _deciding_ things. It’s dangerous, there’s not much of a chance, and—”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was hard as flint as he stopped at the foot of the stairs. He gripped the banister hard, shoulders hunched in as he tried, valiantly, not to lose his cool again. “I’m gonna take Miracle for a walk. By the time I get back, decide if you’re on board or if I’m leaving you behind.” His feet were heavy as he continued to walk up the stairs. 

“This is _bull_.”

“Yeah, well...” Dean grabbed Miracle’s leash hanging on a hook by the door, attaching it to the collar. He finally turned to Sam, his brother’s pinched and worried face frowning up at him. “Get used to it.” 

The door slammed firmly in his wake as he stepped out into the chilly spring air. Birds chirped obliviously as he leaned against the door, sliding to the ground and clutching at his chest, his breath coming out in panicked pants. Without everyone's eyes on him, he could finally fracture. 

The silence in his head, the lack of Cas’s voice, was deafening.

* * *

Built into the hill, the bunker had a small patch of field at the top, with a few trees scattered around it. When sitting against the tree trunk that faced the south, Dean could see farmland stretching out for miles, the town of Lebanon a tiny dot in the distance. He found Cas sitting here one day, years ago.

“You really don’t ever come up here and sit?” he had asked, squinting up at Dean. His nose was scrunched in that way when he was confused—Dean tried not to take it personally that it was usually directed at him. “It’s really beautiful up here. You and Sam should take the time to sit out here sometimes.” 

Dean had tried, a few times. He used to get bored after five minutes of staring and leave. Couldn't figure out why Cas liked it so much. But in the past couple of months, he found himself sitting much longer, lost in thought—sometimes even until the sun dipped past the infinite horizon.

After meandering with Miracle down their usual path on dusty backcountry roads, Dean brought them up to that hill. Miracle laid at his side, occasionally nipping at a bug that flew by. Dean sat with his legs tucked up toward his chest, elbows resting on his knees, twirling a long piece of grass between his fingers. He stared out into the distance, watching the sun hang heavier in the afternoon sky.

A twig crunched behind him as Dean heard Sam’s heavy footsteps coming up the hill. Dean closed his eyes briefly, irritated, and regretted ever telling Sam about the spot in the first place.

A shadow cast over Dean as Sam stood in the sun’s way. “Can I sit?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s a free country.” 

Hesitantly, Sam sat down on the other side of Miracle, legs crossed. He put a hand on the dog’s head, petting him absentmindedly. He took a deep breath, then out, before saying, “Eileen said that I should come talk to you.” 

Dean kept his eyes trained on the horizon, not replying.

“And trust me, I don’t—well, I don’t really want to, Dean. I’m pissed. Really pissed.”

Dean bit at the inside of his cheek—hard. 

Sam leaned forward, peering at Dean’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Ripping the blade of grass in his hands, Dean let it drift to the ground. His knees cracked as he stretched his legs out. “Cas was the one that showed me this spot, you know.”

“Dean.”

“He likes to be outside a lot. Ever notice that? Everything probably looks and feels like molecules to him, but he likes being out here the most.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam said again. “We need to talk about what’s here, right now, not what was. Okay? Another portal opened up in New Mexico—possibly one in Canada, too. Demons are… everywhere. Jack can handle healing the Empty, but _we’re_ the ones that need to help people whose lives are being destroyed by this leak.”

Dean leaned back, his hands clutching at the grass. 

“Eileen and I were talking about this, and she had a good idea. We need to reach out to the hunter network, tell them what’s going on. Get more organized. So that until Jack is able to seal the Empty, we can make sure demons aren’t wreaking havoc on people.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said blandly. “A good plan.” 

“ _And_?” Sam demanded.

Dean looked at his brother, shrugging. “And, sounds like you guys know what you’re doing.” 

“Jesus.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, laughing with no humor. “So you’re just going to run into the Empty with this half-baked plan. Nothing I say will even show you how _stupid_ you’re being.”

“Yup.”

“Dean, you _heard_ Jack. We don’t know anything about the Empty. I mean—making you a new body so your subconscious can go in there? That’s just—that’s nuts.” 

“I know that.”

Sam turned toward Dean, holding out his hands. “I know he was your friend. He was mine too. But he made his choices. And I know that’s really hard to accept. It’s been hard for _me_ to accept. But if we just let the world that he helped save go to crap, if you end up dying just to get him back—what then? How is that honoring his memory at all?”

“It’s not the same,” Dean said. His voice was hoarse.

“What do you mean, it’s not the same?”

Dean pressed his finger and thumb across his eyelids, huffing out a sigh. “When Cas got taken. When he—when he told me he made that deal. I told myself—” He stopped. Cleared his throat. “I told myself, right after he was taken, that I would do _everything_ to get him back. Bargain with God, rip apart the Empty myself if I could.” He pressed a finger into the dirt, pointing down at where the bunker was buried. “It was the _only_ thing that picked me off that goddamn floor, Sam. That promise to myself that was the only thing.”

Sam stared at him. He sucked in a breath. “Are… are you saying that—”

“He told me he loved me,” Dean said. The words fell swiftly, like a hammer on iron. Vocalizing them just ripped the hole in his chest wider. “When he made that deal with the Empty to save Jack… it said that it’d take him when Cas felt happiness. Real happiness. And he told me…” He cut off, gritting his jaw.

“Dean,” Sam said softly. He laid a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“He said that he loves me, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t fucking—” The hole was ripping wider, he could feel it. Threatening to overwhelm him, take him completely. He fumbled to his feet, his breath coming out in harder pants. Miracle whined, raising his head. “I don’t—so I need— I can’t—”

“Dean, hey. Hey.” Sam stood in a fluid motion, grabbing Dean by his shoulders and pulling him in tightly. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I just need to try, Sam, okay?” Dean said into his shoulder, grabbing Sam’s jacket like a lifeline. “I need to try.” 

“I get it.” Sam’s voice was choked. “I know.”

“The only way he was happy was by accepting the fact that I don’t want him,” Dean said. “How fucked up is that? And I can’t let him think that I just...” 

He couldn’t go on. Sam seemed to understand, and just nodded sharply, hugging him tighter. 

They broke apart after a moment; Dean stared at his feet, locking his muscles, trying to stop his shaking. He felt moments away from shattering. 

“Four months—I just.” Sam stopped, blowing out a sigh. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s hard enough to think about,” Dean admitted through numb lips. “Saying it…” 

“I can understand that.” Sam lightly nudged Dean’s shoulder. “I’m glad you told me.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We’ve lost him before. _You’ve_ lost him before. But this time it’s…” Sam cleared his throat, adjusting his feet. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. The familiar buzzing began in his brain—mounting, like a wave cresting and ready to drown him. He bit at the inside of his cheek. 

“If I lost Eileen again,” Sam said, softly. “Now, after everything we’ve… realized about each other, how we feel about each other… It would hurt more. Even more so than the first time she died.” 

Dean nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“And if I had a chance to get her back, I’d take it.” Sam adjusted his coat, pushing his hands into the pockets. “Which is why I’ll tell Jack that he needs to find another way to get me in there with you. I’m not letting you go alone.” 

“No. No way.” Dean wiped the back of his hand across his nose, shaking his head. “You have Eileen. You can’t leave her.”

Sam’s face twisted into a frown. “Well I can’t let _you_ leave, either.”

“And if we get separated in there? Or you get hurt? How is that gonna help Cas?”

“How will it help if you go in alone and can’t do it yourself?” Sam shot back. “Dean, you don’t have to keep putting the burden of saving everyone on yourself. Even if Cas…” He trailed off, face twisting. 

Dean pushed back the buzzing in his brain, ripping a few more blades of grass from the dirt. “I saw Chuck, you know. In Idaho.”

Sam blinked at the sudden topic change, his eyebrows shooting up his brow. “Wait, _what_? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He was human. Weak. Not much of a threat.” Dean sat back down on the ground, clasping and unclasping his hands. His knees felt too weak to stand on anymore. “He told me I didn’t have much of an ending. That my story was a tragedy, or something. And if that’s true, well—I’d rather go out with a bang, trying to get Cas back, than with a whimper. That's what I've decided.” 

“Dean,” Sam said gently above him, “I hope you know that’s not all you’re good for.”

“Hell yeah, it is. It was from the second I carried you out of that fire when you were a baby.” Dean avoided Sam’s shiny eyes, waving a hand. “No, listen—I’m not mad about it. I’ve accepted it, actually. That I’m always gonna help people, even if it hurts me. Especially the people I care about. I’d rather die doing that by _my_ choice, you know? If that’s the way I’m gonna go.”

Sam inhaled sharply. “It doesn’t sound like I can change your mind.”

“Nope.”

Sam chewed at his lip, nodding. A few tense moments passed before he finally said, “Okay. Then promise me one thing. As your brother.”

“Depends on what I’m agreein’ to.”

Sitting next to Dean, Sam ran his hand across Miracle’s head. He frowned at the sun sleepily drooping in the horizon. “Whatever you find in there—whatever happens. If there’s a choice in there—a choice to either sacrifice yourself for Cas or _not_ go down that path… just—don’t do it. Okay?”

Dean sighed. “Sammy...”

“No, listen for a second. When Jess died, I would have done anything to get her back. And when Mom lost Dad, she made that deal with Azazel. That’s how all this started.” Sam smiled, a bit deprecating. “I guess it runs in our DNA: killing the world just so we can have the person back that we love.” 

“And you think I’m gonna do that?”

“No. Not intentionally. But we’ve been down this road too many times to be naive about it.” Sam swiped a hand through his hair, pursing his lips into a frown. “All I’m asking is that you’ll think about that choice. That you won’t just jump into self-sacrifice mode. Okay?”

The protest was bubbling in Dean’s throat, ready to burst out—to deny any sort of promise. But then he saw the desperation, the sadness in Sam’s eyes. The hope. 

So Dean nodded. Held up his hands. “Fine. Okay. Yeah.” 

Shoulders sagging, Sam tilted his head forward, chin hitting his chest. “Good. Okay.” He looked back up, a hopeful smile on his face. “We’re almost done packing. Gabriel’s flying us out in an hour.” 

“Wait—‘we’?” 

“You really didn’t think Eileen and I would let you do it _all_ alone,” Sam said with a grin. “We’ll come to Sioux Falls with you, help you find that portal. Besides, Jody’s been harassing me lately about not meeting Eileen yet. She’ll be thrilled.” 

Dean frowned. “But Miracle…”

“Can come too,” Sam finished. He raised his eyebrows at Dean. “You have people in your corner, Dean. Get used to it.”

Huffing out a laugh, Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sure. You go finish packing your hair products, I’ll be there in a second.” 

Sam’s smile grew wider. Dean returned it. He watched Sam’s back as he walked down the hill. As soon as he was out of sight, Dean’s face fell, and he looked back out into the distance.

 _You lied to him,_ Cas’s voice accused. 

Dean didn’t reply. He stared at the setting sun until his eyes watered. The hole in his chest howled. 

Standing, he brushed the dirt off his jeans, and took the path down the hill towards the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and a plan is made!! but it's kind of a stupid one!! but dean doesn't care!! 
> 
> we're getting very close to Dean finally yeeting his ass into the Empty and getting his funky little angel back, don't worry—especially now that Sam's more on board. (or IS he......??? jk it's fine he is. he's not the obstacle anymore. but there IS another obstacle... maybe more... *moonwalks away*)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I would love to hear your thoughts!! Your comments are what I munch on with my morning oatmeal. <3
> 
> (if you prefer to yell at me on tumblr then [HAVE AT IT](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingcas) i love being yelled at)


	7. endlessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone and welcome back ~~ (or welcome for the first time if you're stumbling onto this story just now!)
> 
> thank you so so much for all your feedback last chapter!! i'm so overwhelmed by the number of people sticking with this story, and i'm still working to answer all of your guys' wonderful comments. honestly i can't thank you guys enough<33 
> 
> hope you all enjoy the chapter:)

Jody was already at the front door when Gabriel deposited them onto the winding driveway. Dean looked at her, held up his hand in a wave, and then promptly threw up all over the lawn. 

“Well, hello to you too,” she said, deadpan, walking over to them. Her eyes brightened as Miracle bounded toward her. “And who is _this_ ? Aren’t you the _cutest_ ray of sunshine?” She snapped a glare up at Sam as she bent down to pet Miracle. “Couldn’t have even bothered to tell me about the dog, too?”

“It’s been busy!” Sam protested. “I meant to catch you up.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure you did.” Jody held out a hand to Eileen, shaking it with a warm smile. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Eileen said, beaming.

Jody looked at Gabriel, an eyebrow raised. “I take it you’re an angel like Jack here is.” 

“An angel that can’t stick around long, unfortunately,” Gabriel said with a wink. He patted Dean’s back, who was still dry retching over the grass. “Gotta go see that portal, pony up for this kid to go on a little trip.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s nice to meet you,” Jody replied. “Hear you’re our new god, Jack. I hope homicidal tendencies aren’t a genetic thing in your family.”

Jack tilted his head. “Well, I don’t feel any homicidal urges yet, so… I hope not.”

Dean stood up straight, heaving heavy breaths, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “ _You_ ,” he gasped out, pointing an accusatory finger at Gabriel, “flew like that on purpose.”

Shrugging, Gabriel examined his nails. “No idea what you’re talking about.” 

“We should go inside,” Eileen said, shouldering her bag. “There’s a lot to explain.”

“Finally,” Jody said, throwing her hands up. “A voice of reason. We got everything set up already, just need that intel you said you had.” She took Eileen’s bag from her, eyebrows raised. “Think you’ll be able to fill us in?”

Eileen nodded, smiling. “I think will.”

“She understands what’s going on even better than we even do,” Sam added. 

Jody winked at Eileen. “Not surprised. C’mon in.”

As Jody and Eileen walked down the driveway, Miracle at their heels, Dean turned to Jack. “If you’re going to the portal, I’m going with you.”

“No need,” Gabriel said, patting Dean’s chest. “We got it handled. You stay here and do your human things and let us celestial beings take care of it.”

Slapping Gabriel’s hand away, Dean raised his eyebrows at Jack. “You _know_ I can help.”

“Gabriel and I need to observe the portal, and I’m going to try and locate where the Empty is keeping Castiel,” Jack said calmly. “Then we can plan on how to proceed.” 

Dean opened his mouth to protest, when Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Gabriel was right before—you can’t just go rushing in there. Let them help and prepare.”

“And then I’m going to brief you, so to speak,” Gabriel said, wiggling his fingers in front of Dean’s face. “We’re about to get real personal, you and I.” 

Dean scrunched his forehead into a frown. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You boys coming or what?” Jody yelled from the door. 

Gabriel winked at Dean, shaking out his shoulders as he prepared for flight. “You’ll see.”

Dean swung his incredulous look to Jack, who sighed and assured him, “It’s not as bad as he says.”

“You know, somehow that doesn’t fill me with the warm and fuzzies.”

A smile cracked on Jack’s face. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waved his hand as Jack and Gabriel disappeared, turning on his heel toward Sam. “How much you wanna bet we won’t see them until next week?”

“They’re trying their best,” Sam said in his typical big-grown-up-soothing-voice as they walked toward the house. “We just have to be patient.”

“My patience left the building four months ago,” Dean grumbled as he opened the creaky screen door. Vanilla, mingled with the smell of cinnamon, swam through the warm air as he stepped through the threshold. 

The entryway was empty, save for Eileen’s duffel bag deposited on the shoe bench. Voices, raised and talking over each other, floated from the living room. Dean and Sam exchanged looks as they pulled off their shoes. 

Tentatively, Dean followed Sam into the living room. The couches and armchairs, usually in a tight huddle around the rug, had been pushed to the edges of the room. In the middle was the dining table with piles of papers and files scattered across it. Stationed at laptops were Patience and Donna, who looked up to give the Winchester brothers wide smiles as they came through the door. Claire, her arm close to her chest in a cast, was yelling into a phone receiver; Kaia sat on the couch next to her, eating from a chip bag that was soon abandoned when she saw Miracle.

Jody showed Eileen to a free laptop, then turned to grin at the Winchesters. “So, what do you think of our makeshift headquarters?”

Dean worked his jaw, blinking at the weapons splayed across one end of the table, at the wall covered in post-it notes of locations and names. Sam, with a surprised laugh, said, “Jody, it’s… _great_. How did you have the time to set all this up?”

“Not a problem with these guys helping me,” Jody said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Alex was here earlier too, but she picked up a shift at the hospital. There’s been a big influx of patients since the demon attacks last night.” 

“Have you heard about any more attacks?” Sam asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. We think another portal opened up in North Dakota. Devil’s Lake, specifically—I know, the irony.”

Sam sat down at the table and pulled his own laptop out of his shoulder bag, placing it on a small pile of manilla folders. “Did you get in touch with uh, crap—” He tapped his fingers against the table, thinking. “What’s his name?”

Peeking up over her laptop screen, Donna asked, “You mean Cody Piers? Yeah, talked to him and his uncle over there. Already sent a couple of people from Minnesota to go help them out.” 

“Great,” Sam said, his laptop chiming as it booted up. “Anything I can do to help?”

Patience, who had a phone to her ear, put a hand over the receiver to tell Sam, “I had a vision about demons attacking two people with red hair—sisters, I think, and they were hunters. I know it’s vague, but—”

“I’ll get on it,” Sam said. “Eileen and I have been making a contact list of hunters the last few months. I can make some calls.”

With a grateful smile, Patience nodded and resumed her conversation over the phone. 

Jody patted Dean’s arm. “Now before I forget, I got a couple of bedrooms set up for you, Sam, and Eileen in case you get tired. If you want dinner, there’s some in the fridge—Donna attempted to make a hot dish a couple of nights ago before all this end-of-the-world stuff happened, but I think it’s more dangerous than the demons coming out of those portals.”

“Hey,” Donna called, jabbing a finger in the air, “I worked _hard_ on that dish. It’s a family classic.”

“Sure it is, babe,” Jody sing-songed back. She smiled humorlessly at Dean, adding in a low voice, “The tater tots were grey. How did they get that color? I have no idea.”

Dean chuckled. “Honestly? Any food sounds good.” 

“You know I was sorry to hear about your friend too.” Jody chewed at her bottom lip, frowning. “Castiel.”

Averting his gaze, Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“I hope you know that I’m here, if you need anything.” She leaned toward Dean, voice lowering. “I can imagine that things have been hard. But Claire’s torn up about it, too. So if you could get in a word with her…” 

Dean took a steadying breath. “Yeah, I can… I can try.”

Placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, Jody smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Jody,” Claire barked from the couch. “Got Cindy on the line. She said there was another attack.”

“Are you—for shit’s sake. Be right back, don’t go anywhere.” Jody worked her way around chairs and paper piles on the floor to Claire, who handed her the phone. 

Claire’s eyes briefly met Dean’s. Dean offered a small motion with his hand. She glared in return. Kaia, seeing Dean, pulled her hand out of the family-size Doritos chip bag to wave back with a big smile. 

“At least someone in this room likes me,” Dean muttered. 

“What’s that?” Sam asked distractedly, eyes scanning his laptop screen.

“Nothin’.”

Jody shut the flip phone, her expression grim. “All right, listen up,” she said to the bustling room, her hand raised. “Got another demon attack nearby, thirty miles away. Cindy’s doing her best to handle it, but she’s got her two boys at home, and no partner to hunt with. Who wants to assist?”

Patience’s chair scraped as she pushed it back. “I can. All I’m doing is making phone calls.”

“I can go, too,” Donna said. She shot a wink at Patience. “Getting sick of sitting on my buns anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Jody said. “Sam can take over the research front.” She gently grabbed Donna’s arm as she passed by. “Hey. Just be careful, okay?”

“Oh, you betcha,” Donna replied in an overly thick Minnesota accent, tapping her finger against Jody’s nose. With a roll of her eyes, Jody gave her a quick kiss and a leveled look before letting her follow Patience to the front hallway.

Dean and Sam watched the interaction with raised eyebrows. “ _We_ don’t tell you anything?” Sam asked pointedly. 

“Well, _you_ never ask,” Jody snapped. Waving Eileen over, she handed her a legal pad. “Do you think you’ll be able to brief us on what’s all going on with this… Empty thing? All we know is that demons are kicking our asses, but it’d be nice to know more with what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course,” Eileen said with a quick nod of her head. “Do you mean right now?”

“Hell yeah, why not?” Jody sat into the couch opposite from the dining table, giving the seat next to her a pat. “I’ll call Donna and Patience, put them on speakerphone so they can hear this too.” 

Dean remained standing, his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as Jody dialed the number. He scanned the pictures on the walls: of Alex and Claire hunched over a cake, Claire rolling her eyes but with a small smile on her face, of a small candid one of Kaia and Claire cuddled under a blanket on the screened-in porch. Towards the center of the wall was a large one with them all sitting at the table with Christmas decorations, Donna’s grinning face half-tilted in the frame as she took the selfie over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t help but smile at that one.

His eyes wandered away from the photos and back toward the room. Claire was frowning at him. Clearing his throat, he flickered his gaze down to his shoes.

The phone in Jody’s hand clicked as Donna answered it. “What the heck do you want? I saw you thirty seconds ago.” 

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Jody snapped, “but Eileen’s going to give us some important intel.” 

At Jody’s beckoning hand, Eileen launched into an explanation of Gabriel’s escape from the Empty, and the antimatter from that alternate world that could leak from the portals. Dean edged toward the kitchen; he wasn’t sure if he could handle another explanation again without imagining the Empty’s black tar wrapping around Cas as it swallowed him whole. 

Sam was the only one who noticed him leave; Dean gave him a small wave before rounding the corner.

The kitchen was quieter, with Eileen’s voice reduced to a murmur through the walls. Alone, he rested his hands on the countertop, breathing out sharply through his nose. He half expected Cas’s voice to chime in and tell him he was doing it wrong—but that scratchy, deep voice stayed silent. 

All Dean heard instead was Eileen in the next room, hesitantly and quietly explaining Jack’s plan to get Dean into the Empty.

The countertop under his hands faded as Dean saw instead the blackness, engulfing Cas: first his torso, then working its way up to his face, those blue eyes burning brilliantly with tears getting swallowed up last, disappearing as Dean struggled to breathe—

as he told his numb legs to just get up and _do_ something, Cas was dying and he was just lying on the floor sobbing, useless, just _move and do something goddammit_ —

Dean’s chest heaved with quick, fast breaths. He stared at a chip in the countertop, forcing himself to keep breathing through his nose. Head spinning, he bent forward, elbows hitting granite.

‘Probably PTSD’ is how the therapist described him. He didn’t give her the details, in case she’d add ‘clinically insane’ to her list of things wrong with him; but after a few sessions, he finally admitted that a friend had died in front of him. 

“You probably have some PTSD,” the therapist said gently with understanding eyes. “Not just from losing him, but from seeing it happen.”

Of _course_ he’s got PTSD, Dean had ranted to Sam later on the drive home. He didn’t need a professional to tell him that. All their friends were dying or dead, and he saw his mother burning on a ceiling when he was four, for shit’s sake. He was a walking basket case—he _knew_ that. 

But seeing the blackness—the way Cas was smiling, like this was his purpose or some _good_ he was doing, leaving Dean alone and grieving _again_ —it was something Dean couldn’t ignore. Couldn’t unsee. 

Death’s haunted him before. But not like this.

Loud footsteps rounded the corner. Dean straightened, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. Claire stood in front of him, black-casted arm held close to her stomach.

“Oh,” she said flatly. Looking toward the back door that led out of the kitchen, she frowned. “I thought you left or something.”

“Nope.” Dean leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Did you need something?”

“Kaia wanted water.” She looked pointedly at the cupboard behind Dean’s head.

“Oh.” Dean moved out of the way, the cabinet door narrowly missing him as Claire yanked it open. 

Grabbing a clear glass, Claire stepped around him to turn on the sink. The sound of water cutting through the silence felt oppressive. 

Dean knocked his knuckle against the counter. “So, how’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Claire said. She placed the full glass to the side and shut off the sink.

“Hunting been going okay, though? You and Kaia doing… good?”

Claire leveled Dean with a shuttered expression. “Why do you care?”

Anger fizzled in Dean’s chest. “Hey, I do, okay?” 

“Could have fooled me.”

Dean rubbed a hand against his forehead, forcing down the frustration. The situation was _his_ fault. He needed to fix it. 

“Listen. I know you’re upset about… me not telling you about Cas. And I’m sorry about that. I was just—I was looking for the right time.”

“Oh. The right time? Is that what you call it?” Claire sneered. “So by your definition, the ‘right time’ was for Sam to mention it on the phone to Jody like he was just talking about the weather?”

“Things have been complicated,” Dean began.

Claire slammed her good hand against the counter, the glass of water vibrating. “Don’t give me that—that _bullshit._ There was always time to tell me that Castiel was—” She broke off, her eyes wild with anger. “Did you even have a funeral for him? Say his last rites or whatever the fuck? Or were you waiting for the ‘right time’ to do that, too?”

Dean grinded his teeth. “We didn’t do a funeral because he’s not dead. I can get him back.”

“Yeah, because that’s worked out so well up till now. Sam told me that he’s been dead for four _months_ . I’ve been texting him, wondering why he wasn’t replying, and he… he was _dead_ .” Swiping at her eyes, she shouted, “What kind of _bullshit_ is that?”

“I know,” Dean said, stiffly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help. Sorry doesn’t mean he isn’t dead, or that I spent months not even _knowing_.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, despair deflating his shoulders. “It doesn’t help. I know that.” 

Claire scoffed, shaking her head. She leaned against the counter’s edge, her back a sharp and angry line as she glared down at her shoes. “So. How’d it happen?”

“Sam didn’t—” Dean coughed against a lump in his throat. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Said it was better if I heard it from you.”

Dean nodded, rubbing at his chest. “He, uh… made a deal. With the Empty, the thing that’s making all those demons come out of the portals. It was to save Jack. And then he…” He shook his head, searching for an answer, for a better explanation. “I saw it take him.”

“You were there when it happened?” Claire asked. Her voice was softer than before.

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” Dean pressed his fingers harder into his chest, bruising, as his heart stuttered. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you because it’s like—it’s like this hole. And it’s right here,” he jabbed his thumb into his chest, right in the middle, “and it’s huge, and time heals and all that bullshit so it scabbed over but—but it makes me crazy. I can’t think about anything else. And I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, kid. I really am. I couldn’t do it because I’m a coward, and because thinking about—about him… dying or how you’d react, I just couldn’t… do it.” 

Claire’s face had melted from a glare into something of sympathy. Her eyes shone as she softly added, “You couldn’t handle anyone else’s emotions, because you can barely handle your own.” 

Swiping his hand across his mouth, Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.” 

A clock on the wall above the stove ticked into the heavy silence. Dean tried to think of the right thing to say, the words to make it right—he came up empty. Even Cas’s voice was silent.

“I, uh…” Claire cleared her throat. “I saw something at the gas station a couple of weeks ago that he would have loved.”

Dean raised his head. “Yeah?”

“It was this ugly bee plushie by the register. How much you wanna bet he would have bought it?”

Snorting, Dean scuffed the toe of his boot into the grout of a kitchen tile. “Yeah, he would have.” 

“And if anyone gave him crap for it, he’d say it looked sad or something.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, huffing out a laugh. “Sometimes I think he said that kind of crap just to get a rise out of us.”

“Remember the cat from ‘Hot Topical’?” Claire asked, quoting the air with her fingers. Her smile is broad and genuine now. “I still have that thing.”

“Jesus, it was so goddamn ugly.”

“Still is.” 

Their mingled laughs bounced off the kitchen walls. It almost felt normal, for a minute, talking about Cas like there wasn’t a huge hole in the shape of him between them. But then the warm memory faded and left Dean cold. Both he and Claire frowned down at the tiled floor.

“Are you going to get him back?” Claire asked. Her voice was quiet, small.

Something in his stomach clenched. His legs were unsteady as he crossed the room, leaning against the counter next to her. He held out an arm as an invitation. With a sharp sniff, Claire ducked into his side, burying her face into his shoulder. 

Dean gripped her uninjured arm tightly, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I _am_ gonna get him back,” he said, voice raspy. “And you’ll just have to prepare yourself for all the ass-ugly stuffed animals he’s going to buy you when I do. Okay?”

“Okay,” Claire agreed, muffled against Dean’s jacket. She pulled away, wiping the mascara that had run under her eyes. “Are you going to have to go in that thing Eileen’s talking about? The Empty?”

“Yeah.” Dean bit at his lip, thinking. “Jack’s gonna send me in there. If it doesn’t work…”

“It’ll work.” Claire smiled, lopsided. “Just need to have some faith, right? That’s what Castiel was always preaching about.”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned, despite himself. “Super freaking annoying.”

Across the house, a door slammed shut; the voices in the living room, once leveled, pitched to a higher volume. Dean and Claire shot each other a frown before Dean moved toward the doorway; it Jody nearly collided with him as she came around the corner.

“Oh, uh—Jack and Gabriel are back and have news. Thought you wanted to know.” Her eyes trailed to Claire. “We okay in here?”

Claire picked at a thread in the sleeve of her sweater, sniffing. “Yeah.”

“You use your words about how you feel?” Jody asked, raising her eyebrows.

“God— _yes_ ,” Claire burst out, rolling her eyes.

Jody winked at Dean while replying, “Good to hear it,” and turned on her heel. 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean followed Jody down the hall. Jack and Gabriel stood in the middle of the living room, hair ruffled from their recent flight. Dean’s heart immediately dropped when he saw the expression on Jack’s face. 

“What happened?” Dean demanded, striding forward. “How did it go?”

“Not great,” Gabriel sighed, tilting backward on his heels. “But before we get into that—a snack. Anybody got candy? Lollipops preferred, not limited to?”

Dean rubbed his temples against an incoming headache. “Gabriel, I swear to Christ—”

Standing, Sam held up his hand toward Dean, as if that would stave off his anger. “Jack. What happened?”

Jack clasped his hands in front of himself, lips twisting into a frown. His shoulders sagged as he let out a breath. “I… I _was_ able to look in the portal. I don’t think the Empty detected me; I looked through its realm in a matter of a few minutes.”

“How many demons were awake?” Jody cut in.

Jack winced. “Hundreds of thousands. At the very least.”

Crossing her arms, Jody let out a whistle. “That’s not good.”

“Well you were looking for Cas, right?” Dean asked. “Did you find out how to get to him? Is he awake, like everyone else?”

Jack shifted from foot to foot, glancing at Gabriel. With a gentle pat on Jack’s shoulder, Gabriel tilted his head toward Dean, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“He’s…” Jack stopped. Closed his eyes briefly. “I looked everywhere. And I … I couldn’t find him.”

Something sucked up all the air in the room, made it thinner. Dean stared. Woodenly, he asked, “What do you mean, you couldn’t find him?”

“He’s not there.” Jack spread his hands, face contorting. “Castiel’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW NOBODY PANIC i am very sorry for the cliffhanger however two things a) this chapter got REALLY long and i had to split it up somewhere and b) there's a reason for cas not being in the empty (or is he??) it's a whole thing but he's safe!! he's okay!! - as much as someone can be in the empty lol - i promise. :)
> 
> in case you're getting antsy, too - only one more chapter before dean goes to the empty and starts his rescue mission. get excited for it!!
> 
> as always i'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter! feedback feeds me the fuel i need to get out these angsty words. (and, as always, feel free to yell at me [on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingcas) you are most welcome)


	8. even after death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends<3 thank you so much for all the screaming and/or commenting last chapter. it really made my week to know people are invested in and following this story - despite my VERY rude cliffhanger that i'm going to hopefully make up for over the next few chapters lol.  
> my obnoxious cat is lying on my keyboard, so a quick message from him before we get started: 19083iokqlweagmsdma`'`ksadka
> 
> inspiring, isn't it? thank you, Teddy. now on with the chapter :P

“What’s your favorite memory of him?” Sam had asked. It was a few weeks after Cas died, when Sam was deep in the mourning trenches with Dean. Eileen had gone to bed long ago, but Sam stayed up with Dean like he usually did those days, drinking with him at the war table.

Dean tilted the tumbler glass toward his mouth, the whiskey burning his throat. He stared up at the ceiling as he chewed on the question. It was his third drink, and the plaster was starting to spin.

“It’s dumb,” he admitted.

Sam leaned forward, his chin hitting the table. He grinned up at Dean as he whispered, “I don’t care. I am _drunk_.” 

Scoffing, Dean set the glass down. He ran his finger around the rim. “You go first.” 

“Well, that’s easy.” Sam straightened, his face split into a smile. “Remember that hunt where we had to check out that haunting at a carnival? And Cas was bitching out the stall vendors for having a rigged game when he couldn’t knock over that last bottle?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. He was trying to win a teddy bear for Claire.”

“ _Yes_. That time.” Sam frowned, taking a sip of beer. “Although I don’t even remember why he was there in the first place.”

“We prayed to him, after we ganked that ghost. Thought we’d get a kick out of an angel at a carnival.” 

Cas had showed up looking very disappointed, refusing to partake in anything until Dean shoved him over to a stall, teasing him into trying out a game. Cas had rolled his eyes, but did what Dean said; even had a small smile on his face as he knocked over a stack of bottles and Dean cheered.

Dean could never understand why Cas did it: bent over backwards for Dean like that. 

Well. _Now_ he knew why.

Fumbling for the whiskey bottle, he took a pull straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. He ignored his brother’s frown.

“Tell me yours now,” Sam said. “Your favorite memory.”

“I dunno. Probably the carnival thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. “C’mon, Dean.”

Dean took another gulp of whiskey as Cas’s face, all backdropped in different memories, flipped rapidly through his head. It was less that he couldn’t think of a memory—more that he couldn’t _stop_ thinking of them.

But one stuck out, more than all the rest. Even if it wasn’t particularly earth-shattering. Arguably normal, even. And he was just drunk enough to let it slip past his defenses. 

“Cas wanted to get a present for Claire’s birthday,” Dean said, fingers tapping against the whiskey bottle, “so I took him to a mall. Turns out it was the first time he’d ever been in one. He was _way_ too into the fact that there was a fountain indoors. And he dragged me to every freaking store under the sun before he found ‘the perfect gift’—which, as you probably remember, was that ugly cat that looked like it got run over by a car a couple of times.” Dean smiled, despite himself, ignoring the burn at his chest. “He wouldn’t let me talk him out of getting it. And afterwards I bought him a soft pretzel because he wouldn’t stop asking me questions about ‘em.” _Why do they come in a size so large, Dean? Why do humans have to twist their bread like that? Does it make it more entertaining to eat?_ Dean smiled down at the table. “Probably one of the best days of my life. In a stupid goddamn mall on a Tuesday afternoon.”

He finally looked at Sam, who had gone completely still, unblinking. It wasn’t characteristic, since Sam was usually a squirmy drunk. He was staring at Dean very strangely, and for some reason, tears were pooling in his eyes.

Dean shrugged, shifting in his seat, uncomfortable. “Told you it was dumb.”

Sam reached out for the whiskey. Dean handed it to him. Tilting it back, Sam took a long gulp. 

He didn’t get drunk again with Dean anymore after that. 

* * *

As Jack’s words rang throughout the room, Dean waited for the ground to swallow him whole. But he stayed, surprisingly, numb. Licking his lips, he asked, softly, “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“I didn’t see him in the Empty,” Jack said, his face contorted. “I thought I’d be able to at least sense him, at least see his grace, but I… I couldn’t.” 

“Could he have gotten out?” Sam asked, his eyes nervously trailing over to Dean. “Maybe he found a portal.” 

“Wish that were the case,” Gabriel said, scratching at his forehead, “but Jack doesn’t sense him on Earth either.”

Jack bit at his lip. “I thought I could find him, direct Dean to him when he goes in there.” 

“So the Empty hid him,” Dean said, his voice pitching higher from the anxiety. “It’s pissed at us, pissed at him. It hid him really well so that we can’t find him.” 

“If he’s hidden, Jack won’t be able to direct you to him,” Gabriel said. “It’d be a failed mission before you even start it.”

Silence hung heavy. It felt like too many nervous eyes were on him, waiting for his reaction. Dean stared at the ground, trying to breathe through his nose. Trying to stop his head from spinning.

“I need—” Dean stopped, abruptly. He shook Sam’s gentle hand off on his shoulder. 

He remembered where Jody’s bathroom was from when they had dinner there last—his feet carried him down the hallway, his hands pushed open a door. When he heard footsteps following—probably Sam—he shut the door, leaning against it. 

Hollow, bloodshot eyes stared at him from the mirror. It took a jarring moment to realize they were his. It’d been weeks since he’d properly looked at himself: his cheekbones jutted more sharply under the dark circles of his eyes, his mouth downturned in a permanent frown. Patchy stubble was sketched into his pale skin; a result of not shaving in days. There were lines on his forehead he didn’t remember there being before.

If Cas was gone, really gone—

Cutting off that line of thinking with a sharp cut of his hand, he turned on the sink. Water dribbled onto his hands; he splashed it on his face. 

“Cas,” he murmured into his palms. “Are you—” He took a shaky breath. “Are you still there?”

Silence pulsed in his head.

“Dean?” Sam knocked at the bathroom door. “Dean, are you okay?”

 _Cas,_ Dean thought, as loudly as he could. _Cas, damn it, please._

A moment passed; then: _I’m here._

Dean leaned over the sink, letting out a sharp sigh as the warmth of Cas’s voice filled his mind. It was just a voice. A figment of the imagination, him losing his marbles; but it bolstered him all the same.

He patted a hand towel against his face, then yanked open the door. 

“I’m fine,” he said, shouldering past his brother. “Let’s go.”

“Dean, hey, wait a second.” Sam held onto his arm like a vice. “If you need a minute—”

“I took a minute. Let’s go.” 

Sam’s explosive sigh resonated through the hall as Dean marched back to the quiet living room. Claire had moved to the couch next to Kaia, whose arm was wrapped around her shoulder. Sam moved to stand next to Eileen; they exchanged concerned looks. 

Dean couldn’t look at Claire’s glassy eyes for too long, so he snapped his attention to Jack. “Okay. How do we find him?”

Gabriel, who had moved to perch himself on the back of an armchair, scratched at his jaw. “Uh, Deano, maybe you didn’t hear Jack before—we _can’t_ find him. He’s not there.”

“So the Empty hid him. It had a grudge against us before. It wouldn’t want to make it easy for us to find him.”

“No, I—I didn’t sense him at all,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Not even a bit of his grace. It was like he… disappeared.” 

“Disappeared?” Sam frowned. “Jack, that makes it sound like you saw him in the Empty before.”

A brief look of panic flashed across Jack’s face; his mouth hinged open as he groped for the words. 

“Jack,” Dean said firmly, striding forward. He tightly gripped Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, what the hell aren’t you telling us?”

“I—” Jack swallowed, his face contorting, eyes flickering between Dean and Sam.

“You said when you first became god, everything was overwhelming,” Sam said. “That it was why you didn’t answer any of our prayers. Is there… more to it than that?”

Jack sat heavily on a dining table chair, shoulders sinking forward. His voice was hoarse when he admitted, “I… I tried to go to the Empty. Right after we defeated Chuck.”

Dean’s blood froze. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us this earlier? Why—” He stopped, took a breath to compose himself. He felt Sam at his shoulder, coming to stand next to him. “Tell us what happened.”

Jack licked his lips. “When I first became god, everything was… _so_ overwhelming. And Amara… when I absorbed Chuck’s power, I absorbed her too. And she’s here. I can… I can hear her.” He touched the side of his head, wincing. “Sometimes she’s _very_ loud; sometimes she’s not. So when I was finally able to harness my power—make a vessel, get back on the ground—my first thought was to try to get Castiel in the Empty. I used my powers to go there, and… and it found me. Almost right away.” 

Eileen crossed her arms. “You went there through one of the portals?”

Jack shook his head. “I didn’t know there were portals yet. They must have existed, but…” He took a breath. “The Empty found me. I tried to bargain to get Castiel. But it was angry. And Amara—she got angry. And she took over. She blasted the Empty, yanked us back to Earth. I couldn’t do anything about it.” He stared at his hands, sniffling. “It took me weeks to get back in control again.”

“Did she hurt you?” Dean asked sharply. “Was it like a possession?”

“No, just…” Jack huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “It was more like she was scolding me. Trying to convince me she knew more than I did. She knew, if I got back in control, that I’d just try to get Castiel again. Maybe even ask for your help doing it.” He spread his hands. “She told me there would be consequences if I tried to go to the Empty. And now Castiel is gone, and it’s leaking into Earth and… well, she was right.”

Kicking himself off the armchair, Gabriel frowned. “So you’re saying you saw Castiel? Knew exactly where he was?”

“Yes.” Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes as he put his hands over his head. “And now—now he’s gone, and the Empty is angry and leaking and… it’s my fault. I think it’s my fault.”

“God damn it,” Dean gritted out, turning away. Anger bit at his chest, making it itch; he swallowed it down. The last thing he wanted to do was blow up at Jack again. The kid had enough to worry about. 

“So he’s just… gone?” Claire asked, her voice quiet and small. She looked at Gabriel. “Aren’t you an angel? Aren’t you supposed to _help_?”

Gabriel held up his hands. “Hey, kid, I’m the archangel that’s supposed to be the messenger. Not the archangel of… doing shit.”

The anger swelled and crashed into Dean as he spun on his heel, coming chest-to-chest with Gabriel. “For just a goddamn _minute_ ,” he growled, “can everything not be a joke to you? For a _minute_.”

Something dangerous flashed in Gabriel’s eyes as his lips curled into a calm smile. “No more than you can stop being a stubborn asshole.”

“ _I’m_ trying to find a fucking solution. What you’re doing is just—bullshit.” Dean turned to Jack. “You said that you can’t see Cas. But he _has_ to be there. He’s not on Earth, you didn’t sense him on any other planes of existence—there’s literally nowhere else he could be. The Empty’s probably just hiding him. Right?”

Jack’s wide, teary eyes looked up at Dean. “Yes, it’s… it’s possible.”

“Great. So we keep the plan. You send me in there, I look for him.” 

“Even if he did that,” Gabriel said, exasperated, “you don’t have a roadmap. Or even a sense of where the hell Castiel _is_.”

Dean straightened up taller. “I can find him.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gabriel asked. “What makes you so sure? Because I don’t know if you were listening yesterday, but there’s _nothing_ there. Like, nothing nothing. I’m an angel, and I couldn’t find anything—not even the exit—until you went and shoved your hand into it.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Gabriel tilted his head toward the ceiling, letting out an ugly laugh. “You are a _wonder_ , you know that?”

“You got a better idea?” Dean shot back. “Because the only solution I see right now is to stop standing around with our thumbs up our asses and actually _do_ something.”

“Want to know what I think?” Gabriel took a step forward, crowding into Dean’s space. “That you have to use logic for once in your damn life, Winchester. I know daddy taught you to be a good little soldier, solving problems with your fists, but guess what? That ain’t this situation.”

 _Destined to die on an inconsequential day,_ Chuck’s voice sneered.

A knuckle cracked as Dean squeezed his fists tight. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Gabriel,” Sam said, holding out a firm hand. “Back off.”

“Are we seriously all going to walk on eggshells about this?” Gabriel barked. “We’re really afraid to say the truth here? Just because good old Dean here might _yell_ about it?”

“Dean’s going to the Empty,” Sam said firmly. “Whether he finds Cas or not is another issue, but he’s going to _try_.” 

“It’s a failed mission before it starts,” Gabriel snapped.

“No one asked for your fucking opinion,” Dean said. “Or your _quips_. Or you acting like this situation is just another big cosmic joke to you.” 

Gabriel crossed his arms, drawing himself taller. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m an archangel, and I could squash you in a second. You’re _lucky_ I’m here. I could peace out at any time.”

“Promises, promises,” Dean replied through clenched teeth. 

Grin returning, almost manic, Gabriel said, “You _failed_ , Dean. Castiel died, and that’s a fact. The sooner you get over that—”

He didn’t finish. Dean was already shoving past Sam, who had seen the writing on the wall and tried to hold Dean back—his fist clocked toward Gabriel’s face, who dodged it effortlessly, spinning on his heel. Gabriel’s hand shot out, and before Dean could react, fingers were pressing hard against his forehead. 

The world went black. 

Images—a kaleidoscope of color, bleeding into each other—exploded in front of Dean. Jody’s living room bled away, and in its place was a demented merry-go-round of places and people, flashing too fast for him to track. And then, suddenly—suspension. Time stopped, and Dean’s feet landed on the cold cement of a familiar dungeon. 

“No,” he whispered, or would if he could move—if he could speak. 

He saw Cas, eyes overflowing with tears, his hand outstretched—placing it on Dean’s arm. Pushing him out of the way. Black matter, thick as tar, slamming into Cas and sucking him away. Dean’s soft sobs filling the room as he sat, alone. 

The scene jolted forward again and suspended every few moments—Dean on the hill above the bunker, screaming at the sky; Sam shaking him, pleading his name as Dean lay on his bedroom floor with a graveyard of whiskey bottles scattered around him; the way the therapist tapped her obnoxious pencil against her bony knee during their sessions; the Impala grinding under his feet as he traveled, endlessly across the country, looking for answers, for anything related to the Empty; praying until his voice was hoarse from saying “me too, Cas, me too” to someone he knew wouldn’t hear him.

“Stop,” Dean said, hands covering his eyes. “Please, stop, fuck—”

Something in his chest tugged; a blinding blue light pulsated, and he was knocked backward. His elbows scraped against the rough carpet as he crashed to the ground.

Gabriel stood above him, hand outstretched, staring with wide eyes out into the middle distance. His face was pale.

“Dean!” Sam’s hands grabbed at him. Dean, shaking and breathing heavily, let himself be hauled up to a chair. Claire was on the other side of Dean, eyes wide and scared as she held his arm.

Jody grabbed Dean’s chin, looking him over, before shouting over her shoulder, “The hell did you do to him?”

Blinking, Gabriel looked down at Dean, like he was noticing him for the first time. “I was going to show him… what the Empty was like. How—” He withdrew his hand, arm hanging at his side. “There was interference.”

“The interference was that you _hurt_ him!” Claire snapped, shrugging off Jody’s hand.

“You can’t just—zap people with grace and expect to solve the problem!” Sam shouted. “If you do that again, I swear to God—”

“I’ll take him,” Gabriel said, cutting Sam off. The room fell silent. 

Dean, vision still blurry, looked up. “What?”

“The Empty. I’ll take you there myself. Give you a distraction; then you can go looking for Castiel.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re going to help,” Claire said.

Sam blinked, slowly added, “But five minutes ago you said—”

“Get some sleep,” Gabriel said, addressing Dean. “Four hours should be enough. I’ll… go see if I can look into that portal. Find a path.”

Stunned silence hung in the room as Gabriel nodded sharply, turning on his heel to leave. Shakily, Dean stood, stumbling after him. 

“Hey,” he said hoarsely as Gabriel opened the front door. Cold night air flowed into the threshold. “What… what the fuck was that?”

Gabriel ran a hand down his face, the years of how long he’s been around seeming to settle onto his face. “Castiel was in love with you. Anyone with half a brain could see it. But you…” He shook his head, chuckling humorlessly. “Well, I thought you were just stringing him along. That you were doing all this out of guilt, because it was strategic to have an angel back in your corner, or—I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Dean felt the words rising in his throat; he didn’t have the nerve to say them. Gabriel smiled at him knowingly. 

“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to want to do everything—explore every possible option—before you give up on someone you love. You reminded me of that.” He turned away. “Tell Jack to get that body for you ready. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

With another nod, Gabriel stepped into the night. The door clicked quietly behind him.

“Dean.” 

Sam was standing behind him, a worried and questioning frown creasing his face. 

“He…” Dean licked his lips. “He saw the uh—he saw Cas’s death. I think that’s why…” 

Nodding, Sam said, “Yeah, that’s…” He sighed, his shoulders moving with the breath. “So. A few hours, huh?”

Dean rubbed at his chest, frowning. “Yeah, uh… guess so.” 

Chewing at his lip, Sam stuck his hands into his pockets. “You want to risk some of Donna’s tater tot hotdish before everything goes to hell?”

Barking out a surprised laugh, Dean grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds like a perfect last meal.” He flicked Sam’s cheek in response to his brother’s disapproving look. “C’mon. I’m starving.” 

* * *

Jody pushed as much food at Dean as she could before strong-arming him into going upstairs for a few hours of sleep. There was nothing to pack; nothing to prepare. Dean paced the guest room with nervous energy, pulling at his hands. He could hear Sam snoring, predictably, in the next room where he and Eileen slept. Strangely, the familiar sound put Dean at ease, despite the fact that there’d been times in the past when he considered smothering Sam to put him out of his own misery.

Dean flopped on the single bed, kicking his duffel bag out of the way. After a minute of staring at the ceiling, he bent down to rummage in his bag, pulling out his CD player. The disc he already wanted was in it—Sibelius’s violin concerto. It was part of the collection he bought from that bookstore. Cas would probably like it.

As a sorrowful violin filled his ears, Dean laid back onto the bed, staring at a crack in the drywall. The memory of a warm afternoon in a mall, salt beading Cas’s chin as he smiled softly at Dean over a giant pretzel, floated into his mind. Dean almost smiled back.

_This isn’t a love story._

Dean turned the music volume higher, trying to drown out the voices in his head. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

_It’s a tragedy._

Throwing the headphones off, he sat up, his breaths coming out more strangled. He ran his hands through his hair, cursing. 

_You’re scared,_ Cas’s voice commented.

“I’m not,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

_It’s okay to be scared._

Dean huffed a breath through his nose, shaking his head, fist pressed to his forehead. The voice wasn’t real. It wasn’t even _Cas._ It was probably some screwed up side-effect of having Michael possessing him; Michael’s last stronghold of taunting and torturing him in some way. Making him think that he was less lonely, somehow, or less alone. 

He stopped praying to Cas seven weeks, five days, and one afternoon after Cas was taken. It hurt too much, not getting an answer—not knowing if his prayers were even landing anywhere. And with the voice in his head… at least _that_ was responding.

With a shaky breath, Dean slowly and carefully lowered himself by the side of the bed, the carpet digging into his knees. He pushed away the memories of when he had done this before: on the cement floor of the bunker, drunk and sobbing—at the top of the hill, mad as a wet cat and throwing a beer bottle into a field below—over the steering wheel of the Impala, after he pulled over on the side of the road, his vision too blurred to see. Hundreds of times. Sometimes not even saying coherent sentences or words, just desperate pleas.

Both elbows anchoring onto the bed, Dean clasped his hands together. Might as well do it right. 

“Angels are watching over you,” his mother said affectionately, all those decades ago, stroking his head as he drifted off to sleep. “Pray loud enough, and they’ll listen.”

“Cas—” He stopped. His voice sounded too loud, too wrong. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

“Cas.” Lower, this time. “I, uh—I dunno if you can hear me. I don’t know if you heard me all those other times, but… if you did, and you’re wondering why I quit all those weeks ago, well, I—I’m sorry about that. Hard to yell up a mountain if all you’re getting back is your echo, ya know?” He laughed; it fell flat. “But, uh. If you _are_ hearing this. If you _do_ have your radio on—I’m giving you the signal. That I’m finally coming to get you. And I’m—I’m scared, man. I’m downright fucking terrified. Of not being able to find you, of messing up somehow, of… of being trapped there. Which is unfair of me to be afraid of, I know, because you’ve been there _twice_ now. I shouldn’t be complaining to a veteran.” 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was stupid. His whole prayer was stupid.

 _It’s not stupid,_ Cas’s voice said. It was softer than usual, so imperceptible he nearly didn’t hear it. 

Sucking in a breath, Dean continued, “I guess all I’m saying is—is wait for me. Okay? Don’t go pissing off the Empty again, or making any new wacky deals. Don’t go—” _Don’t go dying,_ he almost said. But that already happened, didn’t it? 

“And I’m sorry for my prayers before. They were all just—yelling. Or crying. Or both. Because I gotta tell you, I was pretty pissed, man. And Sam kept saying that I had to keep going and move on, that you wouldn’t want this life for me—that you didn’t die for this. Nearly punched him when he said that, actually,” Dean added with a morose chuckle. His fingernails dug into his palms. “But all I can think about is—what about the life _I_ want? I don’t want this. Walking around feeling like I’ve lost a limb, like I’ve—” He bit off the words. “You keep making the decision to leave, Cas, to sacrifice yourself or some bullshit. And fine. I get it. But I’m _sick_ of that. Of Chuck saying there’s a fucking story I gotta follow—or that we gotta lose everything, sacrifice everything, that we can’t—that we can’t have—” 

His chin dropped to his chest, breaths coming out in harsher pants. “All right. So, I guess this is the part of the voicemail where the phone should cut me off, huh? Or someone picks up and yells at me for having the wrong number. Happened, once. Was trying to call this girl from 10th grade English. I think she gave me the wrong digits and I—” Dean huffed out a breath, pinching his nose with two fingers. “I’ll leave that story for when I see you. You might laugh at it. So just… sit tight until I can come get you. Okay?” 

Lowering his hands, he folded his arms together. Heavy and tired of holding it up, his head dropped onto them. The door across the room grew fuzzy as he stared at it for long, measured moments; he heard the trees rustling outside, warning of a spring storm. 

It was so easy to let his eyes slip close, to let his mind wander. To imagine the bed dipping from the weight as Cas climbed up next to him, his fingers tangling in Dean’s hair. To hear him whisper that they should go to bed, it’s too cold to be out of the covers. 

Never cold if I’m next to you, angel, Dean would say. Cas’s nose would wrinkle as he gave him that gummy smile. 

The trees quaked outside in the wind as moments bled into minutes, then hours. 

Dean felt a gentle touch at his shoulder. Blinking his eyes open, he narrowed them against the morning light flooding the room. Sam was hovering above him, a worried look on his face. 

“Did you sleep here all night?”

Dean unfolded his arms; he was still perched against the side of the bed. He rubbed at his sore cheek. “Guess so.”

An understanding smile crossed Sam’s face, then a frown. “Gabriel just got here. Are you… are you ready to go?”

His left knee cracked as Dean stood. Feet unsteady, he looked at his brother, who he could tell was moments away from asking him not to do this—but staying silent all the same.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. Pale golden light filtered in through the bedroom window, casting warmth on his face. It almost felt like hope. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what's happening in the next chapter?? yup, you guessed it!! finally some empty action!! it only took me two months to get to rip.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed the chapter - it took me 5 times to rewrite so i REALLY hope it reads well! (immense, endless thanks to my betas for being patient with me to finish it lol)
> 
> thank you so much for your continued comments - particularly to those of you who are commenting on EVERY CHAPTER damn - and for your support. i can safely say i wouldn't be posting the story this fast without all of it. <3 as usual, if you wanna yell (which i encourage), please [stalk my tumblr (@wanderingcas)](https://www.wanderingcas.tumblr.com).
> 
> now i'm off to walk to the bakery and get a coffee; until next week <3


	9. with shortness of breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy sunday, everyone! i hope you're all doing okay. <3 i'll skip saying anything dumb and we'll get right into it!! exciting things ahead!! hoo boy!! this chapter really fought me!! here we go!! hope it's good!! yikes!!

Sunlight glinted against the windshield, the shards of light shattering across the car’s interior. Dean shielded his eyes as Jody pulled down the visor. She glanced at him across the center console. Dean kept his eyes trained on the road rippling by. 

After Dean stumbled out of the bedroom that morning, bags under his eyes, and Jody decided they could afford to take up twenty minutes driving to Starbucks on the way to the portal. Gabriel mentioned that flying would be faster—one glare from Jody had him backing away.

Claire stayed behind to wait for Donna and Patience to return from their hunt. She ducked her head and hid her tears from Dean as she hugged him goodbye. Miracle had pawed at Dean’s leg, whining, as he gave him one last pet. Kaia had wrapped a comforting arm around Claire’s shoulder as they stood in the driving, watching the car pull away. 

Jody tapped Dean’s arm with a steaming coffee cup. Wiping at his tired eyes, Dean accepted it, taking a quick sip of the bitter drink. 

Sam and Eileen were bundled in the back of the car, huddling close with their steaming coffees in hand. Sam asked how the hunt went for Donna and Patience. Jody informed him it went fine—all the demons were taken care of. Sam gave a half-hearted reply, staring at his hands. The car fell silent.

After a long ten minutes, Jody softly mentioned that they were almost there. Sam reached out to clap Dean on the shoulder; Dean nodded and patted his arm, tampering the panic rising in his chest.

The portal was in the middle of a giant cornfield on the edge of town. Corn stalks were scattered across the black and scorched earth, the debris radiating from a centerpoint in the field. Two figures stood in the middle of the wreckage as the car pulled up.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dean tumbled out of the car, inhaling a deep breath of crisp morning spring air. 

_I can talk about bees again,_ Cas’s voice suggested. _If you’d like a distraction._

“No, I’m good,” Dean muttered, fighting a smile.

Sam shut the back passenger door, frowning. “Did you say something, Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. I said it’s too early for this shit.” He turned to walk into the field before Sam could question him.

Black ooze bubbled inside the portal, its black glossy surface catching the hazy light. It looked different, now that it wasn’t in a dim cave in Idaho or wrapped around Cas’s body as it snatched him away. Jack stood over the portal with closed eyes, his hands glowing blue. Dean stopped next to Gabriel and crossed his arms.

Gabriel glanced at him. “Jody said it’d only take twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, well, Sam’s mocha chocolate bullshit took five minutes for them to make.” Dean tilted his chin toward Jack. “What’s he doing?”

“Finding a path for us and making a body for you in there, two-for-one style.” Gabriel glanced at Sam and Eileen as they walked up. “Kid wasn’t joking about being god-like.” 

“Won’t the Empty notice that Jack is searching in there?” Eileen asked, wrapping her jacket tighter against the wind.

“A risk we’re going to have to take,” Gabriel said, signing to her as he shrugged.

Jack gasped, his eyes flying open. The blue around his hands faded. He met everyone’s expectant eyes.

“I think I found a way. I don’t sense the Empty’s consciousness there, but it’ll still be risky.”

“What about that tear?” Gabriel asked. “Find that yet?” 

Shaking his head, Jack said, “I can’t sense it. I don’t know why.” 

“Might be an inside kind of job,” Dean said. “Gabe can look for it while we’re in there. How’s the whole, uh…” he waved a hand aimlessly, “other body stuff gonna work?” 

“Jack and I worked it out while you were sawing logs upstairs,” Jody said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Sam, Eileen, and I can bring your physical body back to the house while you’re doing your thing. When Jack brings your consciousness back, he can put it directly there.”

“My grace will make sure nothing happens to your real body while you’re not inhabiting it,” Jack added. “I can’t guarantee the safety of your new body, but it’ll be antimatter resistant, I hope.”

“You _hope_?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s reassuring.” 

“How long is this whole rescue mission gonna take?” Sam asked. “Hours, weeks?” 

“We don’t know how time passes in the Empty compared to here,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Hard to say.”

“Either way, the tear is probably getting wider as we speak,” Jack said. “The best I can give you is equivalent to about a day here. That day could be longer in the Empty, but… either way, I have to pull you out when the time is up. It’s too dangerous otherwise..”

Sam pulled at his wrists; a habit he formed when he was a kid and particularly anxious. Dean couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of it. “So, are you going to keep in contact with Dean? How will you know when to pull him out?”

Jack looked at Gabriel nervously, who cleared his throat. 

“Uh, well… Here’s the thing.” Gabriel rocked back on his heels, sighing. “The _hope_ is that you’ll be able to pray to Jack, keep in contact. But there’s no guarantee that’ll work.” 

“But I can go into the Empty if you need my help,” Jack said. “When I found the tear, I can fix it from outside the portal, but if I have to I can—”

“No, hey, wait.” Dean placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, trying for a reassuring smile. “Last time you went in there, Amara took a joyride for months. I’m not gonna let you risk that again. Okay? You may be a new god souped up on a lot of power, but you’re still a kid. And you may not need it, but I’m still gonna protect you when I can.” 

Jack frowned. “But I can help.”

“You’ve done more than enough. I can take it from here. Capisce?” Dean ruffled his hair, grinning at Jack’s narrowed eyes before turning to Gabriel. “Plan B is that I’ll pray to you instead, since you’ll actually be in that hell hole with me. Your grace should be powerful enough to communicate with Jack and pass on any prayer messages, right?”

Gabriel waved a hand. “Well, I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet, but I _am_ an archangel, so….”

“So that’s a yes,” Sam translated, rolling his eyes.

The portal gurgled and added to the conversation by spitting a spray of black ooze. Dean jumped out of the way, raising his eyebrows at Jack. 

“It does that sometimes,” Jack said with a shrug. 

“Sounds like we should get a move on before another demon stages a jailbreak,” Jody said. She pointed a finger in Dean’s direction, her face firm. “Now you be careful in there, all right? Don’t make me kick your ass if you get yourself killed.” 

Dean scoffed, but let himself be yanked into a hug all the same. “If anybody could make that threat and mean it, it’s you.” 

Pulling back, Jody swiped a hand over her face. “And I’ll make good on it, too, so you’d better come back in one piece.” 

Dean nodded. Closed his eyes briefly. Sniffing sharply, he plastered a smile on his face before twisting around to Eileen, arms outstretched. “Well, if we’re doing hugs…” 

“No,” Eileen said, shaking her head decidedly.

“Hang on—are you sayin’ you won’t hug me even in a life or death situation?”

“I’m saying that hugs mean goodbye,” Eileen said with a grin. “And this isn’t a goodbye. So we’ll save the hug for when you get back. Okay?”

Raising an eyebrow, Dean crossed his arms. “Fine. But it’d better be the best freakin’ hug I’ve ever gotten.”

Eileen nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

“And, hey, uh—” Dean tilted his head toward Sam, lowering his voice. “Keep an eye on that guy, will ya? I’m sure you already know this, but he gets anxious easily. Gets stomach problems because of it, and that shit ain’t pretty, if you catch my drift.”

Sam raised his head, frowning. “Hey, what are you saying about me?”

“Just briefing her on your hair routine, don’t worry!” Dean called over his shoulder. He winked at Eileen, who clapped a hand over her mouth as she snorted out a laugh. 

“Dean,” Sam sighed, all-suffering. 

Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, shrugging as he turned toward his brother. “Hey, just making sure that someone will take care of you while I’m gone.” 

Sam huffed out a laugh; it was pale of any humor. “This is starting to feel sort of familiar.”

“Sure does. Me, about to do something stupid and drastic. You, a delicate flower, about to pass out.”

“I am not—” Sam threw up a hand. “Can you try to be a little serious? You’re about to go into a different realm, Dean. That’s gotta scare anyone.”

Dean’s smile faded. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I know where I’m goin’. Not like I need the reminder.”

Sam’s face twisted into a frown. “Yeah, I… I guess you don’t.” 

Eileen glanced between them. She turned to Jody and inclined her head, both walking closer to the portal and away from the brothers. Dean let out a sharp, heavy breath as they left.

“Look, Sam.” He nudged the toe of his shoe into a dead cornstalk. “I know you don’t like this. But thanks, for, uh—thanks for going with it anyway. It’s not like the last few months have been peaches and cream with me. It’s gotta be hard.”

“No, I—I get it now,” Sam interrupted. He glanced at Eileen, frowning. “Besides, it’s not just you and me anymore.” 

Dean clicked his tongue. “Nope. It isn’t.” 

“But... maybe that’s a good thing.” He gave Dean a lopsided grin. “I mean, not the ‘more people to put ourselves in danger for’ thing but… for the other reasons.”

“‘Other reasons’? Like the apple pie life with a picket fence, like Dad would have wanted?” Dean scoffed. “I think we picked the wrong people for that.”

“No, not that, just… “ Sam ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “When I said that the world needed saving, that you had blinders on for only caring about one guy… it was unfair. Because I _get_ it. Being with Eileen, it… it makes me care about the world like I never have before. Little things, like—like how good breakfast tastes or the way the sun feels. Even down to how green trees can get.”

 _The flight pattern of bees, or how stupidly emotional a string section in an orchestra can sound_ , Dean didn’t add. Instead he nodded, his eyes trained on the broken stalk at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“And I’m realizing that all those things wouldn’t matter if I lost Eileen. I… I wouldn’t even _notice_ them. Well, maybe eventually I would but—it’d be hard. So if I had to choose between the world and the person that made me realize how good the world _was_ , well—it wouldn’t be much of a choice at all.”

There was a pressure behind Dean’s eyes where moisture gathered at the corners. Leaning forward, he grabbed Sam into a tight hug. “Thanks,” he choked out.

“Just focus on getting him back. Okay?” Sam drew back, wiping at his eyes. “We’ll handle the whole end of the world thing.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, pretty sure I’m going to be cleaning up your mess when I get back.”

Frowning, Sam began, “Hey, that’s—” 

“You _guys_!” Gabriel hollered from the portal. “Are we going today or next year? Let’s get a move on.”

Sam and Dean exchanged an eye-roll before making their way over to Gabriel and the others. Sam put his arm around Eileen, pulling her to his side. She tapped at one of his wet cheeks with a gentle smile.

“I’m going to have to put you to sleep to take your consciousness into the Empty,” Jack said to Dean. “Is that okay?”

A breeze picked up, tossing the broken corn stalks across the ground. Grinning with a bravado he didn’t feel, he tilted his head down. “Kid, you do whatever you want. I’m ready.”

Jack licked his lips, hesitantly reaching out a hand toward Dean’s forehead. He glanced at Gabriel.

"Remember your promise, okay?" Sam asked, voice cracking. 

Dean nodded, hoping it was convincing. 

“I'll be right behind you, Dean-o," Gabriel said with a wink.

“Better be,” Dean snapped back. 

The last thing he saw before Jack’s fingers gently touched his forehead and everything went black was Sam’s wide, frightened eyes.

A familiar, nauseating feeling tugged at his body, whipping him back and forth in an unseen current. He grasped with hands he didn’t have, and yelled with a mouth that couldn’t make noise. Colors flashed on either side of him like a demented kaleidoscope. 

With a quick jerk, he jolted to a halt. He blinked open the eyes he suddenly had. 

He was met with a wall of black. 

His fingertips reached out to touch it; his hand went right through. Confused, he took a step forward—even though the darkness looked solid, it parted for him as he walked.. 

“Shit,” he whispered. It echoed, pinged and dashed across the stretched nothingness. Tense, Dean waited for a response. When none came, he let out a breath. He patted at his chest, feeling the same clothes he was wearing topside—even down to the gun he had tucked into his belt. He pulled it out to hold in front of him, even though he knew it was useless.

He squinted, waiting for his vision to adjust. Instead, things got impossibly darker the longer he looked into the distance. He shook his head to clear his clogged eardrums until he realized it was the silence, oppressive and pushing at his eardrums. Twisting, he searched for any pinprick of light, any sign of a route. There were no markers, no signs. Even the ground was so glossy and transparent that his feet seemed to be suspended in mid-air; like a puppet on strings, just hovering helplessly. 

“Gabe,” Dean hissed. He took a hesitant step forward, the toe of his shoe tapping at the ground. “Gabriel, where are you?”

Something fluttered in the distance; footsteps quickly pattered away. His breath catching in his chest, Dean stood, straight and rigid, barely daring to breathe or move. The Empty could creep up on him and he wouldn’t know. It could snatch him out of the darkness, without a warning or a—

“Boo,” someone whispered in his ear. Dean flung backward, yelping. 

A familiar chuckle came from the darkness. With a snap, a light sprang from Gabriel’s hand, his grin illuminated. “Hello, there. Did I scare you?”

Dean pocketed his gun, wiping his sweaty palms against the front of his jacket. “Thought the whole damn point was to be incognito.”

“Well, in a sense. I’m going to have to make some fireworks soon to draw the Empty over to me anyway.” Gabriel’s other hand came out from the dark, placing an angel blade into Dean’s palm. “Present from Jack. Dunno how the kid did it, but this is made of antimatter too, so it shouldn’t explode on you. Not sure how well it’ll work on anything in here, but—just in case.” 

“Thanks,” Dean said, hesitantly pocketing the angel blade into his jacket. He nodded at the light emulating from Gabriel’s fingers. “Think I can get some of that too?”

“Oh, Dean.” Gabriel tutted his tongue, shaking his head. “One would think that you were a baby novice hunter. Isn’t this your _living_? To find the supernatural?”

“Kinda hard to find anything when I can barely see in front of my own nose.”

“Well, dunno if you’ve realized this but—it’s called the Empty. What did you expect, some kind of carnival?”

“Okay _genius_ , then what’s your big plan? You just toss your grace all over the place and I sprint off into—nothing?” Dean held out his arms for emphasis. 

Gabriel grinned widely. “Essentially, yes. If I distract the Empty, Jack will also be able to find the tear.”

“I thought the tear was the portals,” Dean said.

“The tear _caused_ those portals—please try to keep up.” Gabriel sighed, the light off his fingers twisting as he waved his hand. “Once I draw the Empty to me, you just start making your way forward. And pray—ha—that you don’t run into any friendly familiar faces. If you manage that… ” He stopped, tilting his head with a frown. “Well. That’s odd.”

“What?” Dean twisted around. Without Gabriel’s light in his vision, all he could see was the black wall again, barely inches past his own face. “What is it?”

Gabriel remained alert, holding up a hand for Dean to stop talking. Dean obeyed, straying to hear what his eyes failed to see. The silence throbbed in his ears.

Suddenly, the ground began to rumble and quake. Gabriel withdrew his own angel blade from his sleeve, holding it high. “Shit,” he muttered. “No, not yet— _shit_!”

“What the hell is this?” Dean yelled above the shaking, holding out his hands to balance himself. 

“You gotta run.” Gabriel turned to him, eyes wild. “I can take on whatever’s coming, but you need to hide. And _fast_. Just run any direction, and don’t stop until—”

A black substance, thick and oily, shot out from the deep dark, slapping itself against Gabriel’s mouth. It coiled around his face and neck as he fell to his knees, struggling. 

“No,” Dean said. “No, no, no—” He tried to sprint away, but the ground pulled at his feet like quicksand. He barely trudged five steps before something twisted around his leg and yanked. Slamming to the ground, his fingers scrambled for purchase as he was pulled backward. He was deposited next to Gabriel, who was nearly covered completely in the black substance. 

“You can’t do _one_ thing I say,” Gabriel snapped, straining against the substance enveloping him.

“Yeah, well, I suck at listening!” Dean scratched at the black tar around his leg, hissing when it burned his fingertips.

Slow, sharp footsteps ricocheted throughout the darkness; both Dean and Gabriel lifted their heads at the sound. The shadows ebbed and flowed, swirling and twisting, to reveal a figure stepping out from the black.

Wide, blue eyes met Dean’s. The familiar face smoothed into soft lines as he smiled. “Dean,” Cas breathed out. “You came.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. “What…”

“Dean,” Gabriel warned.

Opening his arms, Cas smiled. “I heard your prayer.”

Mouth working around words that wouldn’t form, Dean scrambled to his feet. The black substance around his leg went slack as he took a step forward. It was Cas’s face, his smile, his eyes—

 _Dean, his eyes,_ Cas’s voice whispered. 

The warning washed over him like freezing cold water. Cas’s eyes, normally warm and loving, were cold and blank. Dean’s knees buckled, threatening to topple him as he stopped in his tracks.

Cas frowned, his head tilting in that achingly dear way as he asked, “Dean, did you come to rescue me?” There was now an undercurrent to his tone: mocking. Jeering.

Taking a steadying breath, Dean stood taller. Clenched his shaking hands into fists. “Stop wearing his face, you son of a bitch.” 

The Empty’s smile grew wider, showing all its teeth as it straightened out of Cas’s mannerisms. “Ah, Dean. I would say it’s good to see you, but… I don’t appreciate intruders in my place of residence.”

“ _Where_ is Cas?” Dean growled..

“My, my. No house manners, either.”

“Tell me where he is!” Dean’s voice bellowed and echoed across the dark chasm.

The Empty’s smile dropped. “So you barge into _my_ realm, and you have the gall to make demands? Of me?”

“Oh, buddy, I’m just getting started,” Dean growled. His fingers pressed against the outline of the weapon in his jacket. 

The Empty barked out a laugh. “An angel blade? You think that’ll stop me?” It jutted its chin toward the space behind Dean’s shoulder. “I just caught myself an _archangel_. If you really think that blade will even make a scratch on me, then you’re stupider than dear old Castiel makes you out to be.”

“Don’t you say his name.” Dean took a step forward, angel blade fully unsheathed. “Don’t you _fucking_ say his—”

“Took a fun romp through his mind as soon as he got here, you know,” the Empty said, wiggling its fingers. “When I get a new angel in here I usually just feed on their grace and call it a day, but there’s just so much delicious _regret_ in him. I couldn’t resist the temptation to peek into what made him happy enough to fulfill our deal. Completely worth it, I should say,” it added, its hungry eyes roaming up and down Dean’s body.

Dean pulled out the angel blade, holding it high. “All right, you bastard. Here’s how this is gonna play out. You’re gonna let Gabriel go. Give me Cas back. And in exchange, I’ll _think_ about going easy on your ass.”

The Empty clicked its tongue, smile broadening. “My, my. You _are_ hot when you’re angry.” 

“You’re going to give him back,” Dean said, his voice ascending. “ _Now._ ” 

A flash of irritation twitched across the Empty’s borrowed face. “You know what? You need to mind your volume.”

It held out a hand— _those hands that used to touch Dean’s forehead to heal him, lightly brushed against his as they walked, the ones that Dean’s own fingers twitched toward, wanting to hold—_ and snapped its wrist across the air. Dean gasped and clutched at his throat when something pressed against his windpipe, choking him. When the pressure released, he opened his mouth to curse—but nothing came out. Only air. 

“That’s better,” the Empty declared. It stepped around Dean, nimbly dodging a swipe of Dean’s angel blade. With another flick of its wrist, tendrils of black ooze shot out from behind its back, grasping Dean’s wrists and holding him in place.

Gliding to where Gabriel had fallen to his knees, it tucked its palm under Gabriel’s chin, tilting his face.

“I remember you,” it said fondly. “Your archangel grace tasted the _best_ , I have to say.”

Gabriel smiled pleasantly, straining against the black substance. “Well. It’s a pity you didn’t choke on it.”

Dean pulled at the bonds that burned his wrists, mouth wide and yelling with a voice he no longer had. He grasped around his head for Cas’s voice, anything, but nothing responded. 

“So this was your plan?” the Empty asked Gabriel, spinning its arm in a wide circle. “To come here and… what? Find Castiel by some miracle?”

“It was half of it,” Gabriel said with a tight grin. 

The Empty chuckled lightly. It struck a quick hand across Gabriel’s face, droplets of black substance flying to the side. “It seems as if both of you have some memory loss related to this whole situation.” It pointed a hard finger at Dean. “You and your angel’s freak son bombed me and woke everyone up in here, so I had to do the only thing I could: get them out, and have some peace and damn quiet.” 

Gabriel frowned. “ _You_ made those portals? Not the soul bomb?”

The Empty sneered, pulling Cas’s lips back into a terrible smile. “You don’t even know the half of it.” It loomed in front of Gabriel’s face, glaring. “Eons ago, I made a deal with your god—he gives me angels and demons to feast on while they’re asleep, and he gets a place to take out his trash. What he—in fact, what you _all_ —forgot to take into account is that this deal only works when I’m asleep. When I’m… how would you put it? A satisfied customer. But now I’m awake. And I’m angry. And I’m going to make sure that nothing bothers me again. That everything is _silent_.”

“So to eliminate the problem, simply eliminate everyone,” Gabriel said. “Tear a hole in the universe, explode the world that’s keeping you up.” 

The Empty wiggled its fingers. “Great plan, isn’t it? Thought it up when your new idiot god came knocking on the door to get Castiel back. I would say pass on the message that it’s his fault, but, well. You’ll all be exploding soon anyway.” Turning toward Dean, its blue eyes flashed. “Now. What to do about _you_?”

Dean recoiled as the Empty glided toward him, its smile predatory. “I could kill you right away,” it said, “but what’s the fun in that? Maybe you have some fun surprises in this pretty brain of yours.” Its fingers tapped against Dean’s head; he pulled away. 

“He’s just a human,” Gabriel said, his tone tense. “There’s no grace in him for you to get your hands on.”

“Ah, see—I’m not so sure about that.” The Empty tilted Cas’s head, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Something about you seems absolutely delicious.” 

_Fuck you_ , Dean tried to say, his mouth forming the words. It made something in the Empty’s expression gleam; its hand trailed down Dean’s throat, making him shiver. 

“And if there _is_ something to feed on in you—I know how to draw it out. I’ve been in Castiel’s mind, and he knows you… very intimately. Your greatest fears, your worst regrets… And trust me.” Its face morphed; John Winchester’s lips curled into a smile. “That would be _very_ fun.” 

Dean struggled as the Empty’s hands curled around his throat. The black bonds around his wrists burned hotter. 

“I know every _bit_ of what will hurt you,” it hissed. “When the tear leaks my world onto yours and annihilates it, I’ll put you to sleep to feed on, and torture you until you’re _begging_ to be sent back to Hell. So congratulations, Dean. You messed up. Your angel is far away where you can’t find him, and you’ll be—” 

A bang exploded in Dean’s ears, a flash of white knocking both him and the Empty prone. The wind whipped wildly around them and Dean squinted against the blinding brightness. The light dimmed to a warm glow, revealing Gabriel, standing tall with his eyes burning silver. 

“I was going to wait until you shut up,” Gabriel said, wiping the black sludge off his face, “but I think I got all I need to know.”

John Winchester’s eyes widened as the Empty began, “What are you talking ab—”

Gabriel grabbed the Empty by the scruff of its neck, slamming its borrowed body to the ground with a sickening crunch. With a yell, Gabriel flung the Empty’s body far into the darkness, the Empty’s enraged screams echoing further and further away. 

“Okay,” Gabriel said, bent over and panting, “that should keep it busy for a minute.” Reaching down, he gripped Dean’s shoulder. His hand glowed even brighter as something in Dean’s throat popped. “There. Can you talk now?”

Dean hauled himself up to his knees, rubbing at his throat. “Yeah… yeah, I can. What—” 

“Sorry about letting it throw you around like that. I needed it to talk.” Gabriel picked up the angel blade, pressing it into Dean’s palm. “Good news is, I got a working theory about where the Empty put good old Cassie.” 

“Where—” Dean coughed, his voice hoarse. “Where is he? How do I—”

“I wish I had time to lay it all out for you, but that thing’s gonna be back any minute and rip your guts out, so—” Gabriel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “do you trust me?”

“No,” Dean said. “I absolutely do not.” 

“Fantastic.” Gabriel’s palm pulsed white as he held it up. Air pushed against Dean’s back as a jagged rift opened up behind him, peeling back the darkness. Past the illuminated edges were inky, oozing shapes, dim but undefinable.

“Keep in contact with Jack, okay?” Gabriel said. “Pray to him as often and as much as you can.”

Dean shook his head. “Where the hell does that go?” 

In the distance, the Empty roared. Gabriel smiled firmly, gripping Dean's shoulder harder. 

“Go find my little brother, okay?”

Before Dean had a chance to react, Gabriel pushed him backward. In the same moment, the Empty flung itself from the black, morphing into something dark and terrible. Gabriel turned to face it, his body shooting light from every inch of skin, the brightness too brilliant for Dean to see.

Dean shouted out as he tipped backwards, colliding with thin air as he fell. 

Above him, the Empty and Gabriel roared as they clashed—

and the rift zipped shut. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUNNNN
> 
> all right. so. there is an 80% chance that i will need to take a "gap week" so to speak as i work on the next batch of chapters. for some reason dean's time in the empty is VERY MUCHO DIFFICULT specifically because it's a) very emotional and b) 5 out of 6 of my family members got covid this past month which really stalled my writing time (everyone's okay thankfully, it's just been A Month lol). 
> 
> my writing process does have a history of being randomly inspired and quick at the eleventh hour, so it might all work out - but just in case, expect a very temporary hiatus next week:) 
> 
> also - thank you so, so much for all your comments, subscriptions, and signal boosting for this fic. i appreciate each and every one of you (and i'm replying to comments as quick as i can <3) i hope you all have a great week. 
> 
> as always, if you want to yell at me, [i'm right here](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/)!


	10. you explained the infinite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i come to you, hungry and haggard, to humbly offer this chapter. i have been working on it for two weeks straight, staring at it WAY too much, and now it's just time to get this thing out into the world. it's a little different from my usual style, and from the fic's typical tone - but hopefully it makes sense. hopefully it resounds with you guys.
> 
> i'm still responding to all your amazing comments, so if you haven't got a reply from me yet, just know i appreciate you so much and i love hearing from you<3
> 
> a special thanks also to my betas (Triss, Mine, Eli, @of-magic-and-monsters), as well as Lindsay (@shelikestv) for providing special efforts with this one. And, as always, thank you Heidi for letting me throw chapters at you, you forever patient soul. 
> 
> okay! without further ado, because dean and cas have been apart for WAY too long - here's the chapter. :)
> 
> i'm gonna go eat a pizza and sleep for twenty years now. <3

He floated aimlessly through a dark and empty space. Dreams pushed at his mind, like distant storms on the horizon: a hole of bubbling black liquid, demons attacking at a lone gas station, tired green eyes staring back at him in a mirror. He turned away from them. And the storms passed. 

But then—a flash of light. And his eyes were blinking, opening, as he peeled back the layers of his consciousness one by one. Sharply, he breathed in air with lungs that were disused. Shakily, he lifted hands that were almost unrecognizable. Turned over his palms, staring at the unfamiliar lines. His fingers rubbed at his throbbing forehead as he slowly, unsteadily stood. 

All around him was black and emptiness—pushing, imposing, threatening. He remembered an explosion, a tear in fabric, and then pain as he fell down, down. When he had collided, it was like he was cracking into a hundred pieces, shattering pain, and then—silence. Nothing.

A brief panicked pang shot through his chest; he rubbed at it, frowning, knowing the feeling but ignoring it all the same. He took a step forward. Reached out his shaking hands— _hands that used to heal at a touch, hands that lightly brushed against another’s as they walked, ones that begged to hold—_ to feel into the dark. 

His fingers brushed against something hard and cold. His eyes slowly adjusted to see his face reflected in an icy, clear shell encasing him into a small, dark space. He pushed against it with his fingertips; tiny cracks formed from the pressure. He formed a fist and pushed harder, desperate to get out, desperate to—

The ground shook in warning as something outside of the shell roared. Through the spidery cracks, he could see a huge jagged and blue tear, starting from the nape of the horizon and cutting into the ground below. 

He remembered the explosion, and the pain as something hard and crystalized formed around him, keeping him together, keeping his grace from doing more damage, keeping him from—

Quickly, he ran a hand across the cracks, smoothing them out with a blue glow before falling to his knees, breathing heavy and fast. Cold pressed in at his bones; he wrapped his trenchcoat around himself, shivering. 

Outside the shell, he could hear him: _Cas! Cas, where are you, man? Answer me!_

Pulling the coat around him tighter, he squeezed his eyes shut. Laid down on the cold, hard ground. It couldn’t be Dean. It was only an echo, broken fragments of a beloved memory—a storm on the horizon. 

He sank into his consciousness, pulling the layers over him like a blanket; deep and dark.

It was a dream. 

_Cas! Cas, please—_

It always was. 

* * *

Dean fell onto his back with a smack, the air rushing out of his lungs. He blinked up dazedly at the portal as it zipped itself shut, winking out of existence like it was never there. He coughed and wheezed for air as he rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself to his feet. 

The black nothingness of the Empty was gone, replaced by dark, still shapes. His eyes adjusted to the grey tones of the cracked ground and the shriveled tendrils of plants dead under his feet. 

The horizon was stretched out in front of him, endless for miles. Above him the sky twisted in cloudy, black tendrils, unnaturally dark with no stars. Across the field, pools of black, oozing substance bubbled out of the ground—the same substance that took Cas, that was part of the Empty. 

“Fuck,” Dean whispered into the quiet. He spun in a slow circle, looking for any signs of life—any clues as to where the hell he was. 

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled Gabe’s name. Then Cas’s. His voice stopped right in front of him without even an echo. 

“Cas! Cas, where are you, man? Answer me!” 

Not even the wind replied. 

Dean lowered his hands, gritting his teeth. It was worse than the wall of darkness. Now that he could see what was in front of him, he knew that nothing was there.

He sent a desperate, quick prayer to Jack. Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

Experimentally, he brushed his foot against one of the smaller black ooze puddles. It came alive immediately, tendrils grabbing at his ankle. The black ooze seeped in past his jeans, searing at his skin. He hissed in pain as he shook his ankle, stumbling backward, narrowly avoiding another encounter with the creepy black goo. Standing there, watching the substance ooze and bubble in the dirt, Dean felt a familiar clench in his chest. A familiar sense of hopelessness hollowing out his bones. 

There were no clues. No signs. No hope. Cas could be anywhere, and he was running out of time, couldn’t even pray to Jack—he could be trapped wandering this place forever with no map, no help, nobody—

He sank to his knees, hands pressing on either side of his head. His staccatoed, panicked breaths filled the harsh quiet. The air he drew in was acidic in his lungs. 

_Dean,_ Cas’s voice said firmly. _Dean, breathe deeper._

Closing his eyes in relief at someone, _anyone_ being there, he choked out, “I’m—I’m trying—”

_You need to find a way out._

“No.” Dean coughed as he gulped in shallow breaths, running a hand over his face. “No, I’m not giving up. Gabe threw me in here. He threw me in here because he thought Cas was here but I don’t—I don’t know where he is—”

 _Dean._ Cas’s voice was soft, resigned. _Dean, I’m already gone. You can’t—_

“ _No._ ” Dean snapped. The anger gave him clarity. Dirt flaked off his knees as Dean climbed unsteadily to his feet, scanning the grey field and pools of Empty goo surrounding him. “If you’re listening, Cas, you just snap your ears on right now. I’m not leaving until I find you. So you gotta fight, all right? You gotta tell me where you are, give me some kind of goddamn sign.” 

The voice didn’t reply. Scratching his fingernails against his palms, Dean glanced up at the sky. It flashed silver and blue as he heard the Empty’s distant roar. 

_I don’t want you to find me._ The admission was soft, small. 

Dean closed his eyes against the wave of agony that beat at his chest. “Well that’s just too damn bad,” he growled. Pulling out his angel blade, he twisted around and looked for a way around the Empty puddles. With a quick breath, he ran and jumped over one, hissing as one grazed his ankle. 

“Okay. Gotta name the facts,” he said to himself, winding around another puddle. “The soul bomb didn’t make the tear. The Empty did. It wants its universe to collide with ours and explode.” 

A bubble in one of the pools popped, splashing on Dean’s face. He wiped it off his cheek, wincing at the burn. “But it didn’t succeed. The tear’s been around for months, ever since Jack tried to save Cas. We would’ve been blown to kingdom come by now if it got what it wanted.” 

The Empty howled, closer this time. Dean stumbled out of the field and onto a road, his feet landing onto the raised concrete. He scanned the blank, grey horizon.

“This isn’t the same as the Empty,” he said. “There’s rocks, road—actual shit here. Not just darkness.” 

Dean pulled up his sleeve. Impressively, Jack had thought out this new body down to the detail; the watch that Sam gave him for his birthday a few years ago was still attached on his wrist. He squinted at the clock face.

His breath caught, his eyes widening. The second hand on the watch marked the seconds, ticking steadily as it traveled counter-clockwise. Dean watched, mesmerized, as it went backwards from the 45 second mark to the 30. 

_A universe where everything is backwards,_ he remembered Eileen saying. _Time, space, matter—all of it._

“Gabe threw me into the antiverse,” Dean said. He stared up at the flashing sky. “He thinks that Cas is here.” 

_Dean,_ the voice said; a warning. _Don’t._

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” Dean demanded. “Everything is backwards here. Even the matter. And if anything that _was_ matter interacted with the antimatter here…” He looked up. “It’d explode. Make a tear.”

 _Dean, you have to leave,_ Cas’s voice said. _It’s too dangerous._

Dean pressed his fingers into his forehead, shaking his head. “In Idaho. When I tried to put my hand into that Empty shit before—there was a blue light. It knocked me back. It…” 

Slowly, he raised his left hand. Carefully, he pressed it against his arm, just below his shoulder. “There was a blue light when Gabe was rooting around in my head, too. The same one. Right?” 

_Stop._ Cas’s voice was weaker, quieter. 

Above him, the sky flashed a blinding silver. A bellowing sound echoed across the bowl of the horizon, sharp and long. 

Dean squeezed his arm tighter, gritting his teeth. “Cas, when—when you died. You grabbed my arm. And that handprint. It—”

 _Dean._ It was a plea.

“I was never imagining your voice,” Dean whispered. “Was I?”

A few miles away, the sky opened. A huge form, made of darkness and shadow, came tumbling towards the ground. It looked like a giant panther, sleek and shiny with shadows leaking off of it. It landed on its giant paws, its eyes glowing a red brimstone as it turned its gaze toward Dean.

The black puddles around him began to rumble and vibrate, rising up in shadowy tendrils. Dean clumsily fell to the side as one shot out at him, narrowly missing his chest. Another wrapped around his leg, yanking him to the ground, and the creature loomed closer, raised a giant paw as more of the black substance twirled around Dean, holding him in place as he struggled. 

He turned onto his stomach, his hands scrambling at the concrete. The black substance pulled at him harder, overpowering him.

“Cas!” he gritted out, nails scraping as he was dragged further. “Let me find you, damn it! _Show_ me!” 

Black ooze traveled up his arms and his neck. It began to drip down his face, covering one of his eyes. 

And then he saw it—something long and slender appeared, extending toward him like an invitation. 

It was a string; its vibrant blue was the only color in the drained universe. 

At the end of the string, Dean finally saw it: a shimmering, glowing light that wasn’t part of the backdrop. It was jagged, split—like a tear. 

With a strangled yell, Dean reached out toward the string. There was a howl behind him as the Empty began sprinting across the ground on all fours. The ground rumbled to life, shaking underneath him. 

His fingers reached and stretched—he grabbed the string in his fist, energy bursting against his palm. A blue light exploded around him, and the Empty’s roars snapped away. 

* * *

_He was floating aimlessly, through a dark and empty space. There were dreams that pushed at his mind, like distant storms on a horizon—demons attacking, black liquid bubbling, tired green eyes staring at him in the mirror. He shouldn’t go near them. Don’t go near them._

_There was a wall of ice in front of him. Inside it, he could see the storms. Putting a hand against the cold, hard surface, he pushed. Cracks splintered, breaking; he fell through, toward the storms._

Dean fell onto his back with a smack, the air rushing out of his lungs. He blinked up at black sky that was littered with stars. Patting the ground around him, he felt something cold and wet—lifted his hand. Snow stuck to his skin. 

Sore and winded, he carefully climbed to his knees, blinking snowflakes from his eyelashes. 

In front of him was a black, dark lake. It was frozen over—tranquil. Naked trees, looming tall in the darkness, kept guard on its quiet shores. Across the lake there was a dock jutting through the ice, the wood cracked and splintered. Dean recognized it. In another life he’d been there before, when the water was free flowing and the trees dripped with autumn colors and a fishing pole hung from his hands as someone stood guard at his back.

“Wait,” Dean whispered. “This is—”

A figure walked out from the trees, stepping onto the lake. Their coat blew back in the wintery breeze as they traveled, slowly, toward the dock. Dean scrambled to his feet, his heart racing. He’d know that figure anywhere, the slope of his shoulders, the way that his back bent against the wind—

“Cas.” Dean stepped forward, his foot sinking into the deep snow. “Cas! Wait!” 

He ran faster, stumbling and falling as he slid down the snowy hill, his feet crunching against the ice as he hit the frozen lake. His balance teetered and faltered as he tried to run across the lake, his feet slipping out from underneath him. 

The figure watched him for a few moments, then turned. Walked faster toward the dock, his trench coat billowing in the wind. 

“No, damn it—Cas, it’s me!” Dean fell to his knees, the ice cracking underneath him. He scrambled forward, knowing that the lake stretched on for at least a mile, knowing he wouldn’t reach Cas in time. His hands scraped against ice as he crawled forward on his hands and knees, slipping and desperate and out of time. 

The ground rumbled, vibrating the ice underneath Dean’s knees. Spidery cracks appeared in the glassy water, splintering beneath him. Dean looked over his shoulder at the shore a few yards behind him—a looming creature landed in the snow, shadows leaking off of it. It was slender, inhumanely tall—red eyes suddenly gleamed through the darkness. 

“Well that’s just fucking _peachy_ ,” Dean snapped. 

With a screech, the Empty’s shadows flew straight into the air, landing onto the ice with a smack. The rumbling sent a huge crack racing to where Dean crouched. The ice broke apart beneath him; his breath caught as frigid water splashed against his knees, seeping into his shoes. 

In his periphery, he saw a blue strand glowing against the ice, dipping into the water. With a curse, he grabbed onto it, the blue glow lighting up his skin as his head disappeared under the water’s surface and a screech pierced the wintery air.

He opened his eyes. 

He was standing in the bunker’s main room. Pizza boxes littered the table, the lamps casting a soft glow. Voices, raised and laughing, filtered from the kitchen—Dean recognized one as Sam’s, another as Jack’s. Dean turned to walk down the hallway; he felt off-balance somehow. Like he was still deep in the freezing pool of water, his body submerged and floating. 

“What the hell is this?” he muttered to no one. 

He passed the kitchen—Jack, Sam, and Eileen were seated at the table, bowls of ice cream in front of them. Eileen flicked a bit of chocolate from her spoon at Sam, who gasped, affronted as Jack laughed, clear and bright. 

Dean said, with sudden clarity, “I remember this.” It was weeks before everything went to Hell with Chuck, with the Empty; the only peace they found in the midst of a war. “This is a memory.” 

Instead of entering the kitchen, Dean’s feet encouraged him to keep going. They guided him down the hall to his bedroom. Dean’s stomach sank, down toward his shoes.

“This is… my memory,” he said, his voice was choked and thin. _Not this. Please not this—_

He stopped in the doorway, bracing himself with both hands as he raised his eyes to the scene. He and Cas were sitting on the bed on opposite sides. Dean was a little tipsy from the beers, a little hyper from the two bowls of ice cream he inhaled. Even though they weren’t next to each other, Dean had gravitated toward Cas anyway, both their heads bent toward each other as they watched something on Dean’s phone.

“This is my favorite part,” Cas said, pointing to the screen. “Right here, when—”

“Hey, fingerprints!” Dean scolded, swatting Cas’s hand away. 

(He only did that because he wanted to touch Cas’s hand somehow. He didn’t know it’d be one of the last times that he could.)

“Watch this part,” Cas instructed. “This is when she shows you the goats.” 

“Wait, wait.” Dean paused the video, frowning up at Cas. “Why are we watching this again? This lady’s just walking around her farm.” 

“I think it’s popular on this website for people to show their animals that they raise. I believe this woman has what’s called a ‘hobby farm’.” 

“And people _watch_ this crap?”

Cas blinked. “Of course. If you look at her follower count, it’s over two million people. That means she’s very popular.” 

“Dude _,_ I _know_ how TikTok works!” Dean exclaimed.

“No, you don’t.”

Dean pushed out his lip in a pout. “Yeah, well. Neither do you. Claire had to teach you.”

“At least I knew how to download the app,” Cas said pointedly. 

“Okay, wise guy, phone privileges revoked.” Dean threw the phone aside, falling back onto his pillows, an arm over his head. “Too drunk to even look at the screen, anyway.”

Cas shifted on the mattress. He held out a hand toward Dean, hesitantly. “I could heal the effects of your possible hangover?”

“Nah, man.” Dean pressed an arm against his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “Just probably need to sleep.”

Cas nodded, standing. “I’ll leave you to it.”

From the doorway, Dean rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. Could barely open his eyes to watch what was coming next.

It was the alcohol. Or the exhaustion. Or—everything. But Dean remembered that something had made him sit up, reaching out to grab Cas’s arm, catching the hem of his trenchcoat instead. Cas looked back at him; Dean stared back, awkwardly. 

And Dean had meant to say something sarcastic, make a deflective joke out of it. There were a hundred snarky lines that had run through his mind. But what came out was a soft, gentle, “You remember when you used to watch me sleep?”

Cas stared, his eyes wide. His chest barely moved from a breath. From the doorway, Dean watched his face, not even daring to blink. Because now he saw it. Now he saw the longing, the want in Cas’s eyes, the question as to whether or not Dean was really pushing that invisible boundary, really suggesting that—

But then Dean had let go of the trenchcoat. Leaned back against the pillows, arms over his head as his face split into a very fake, very broad grin. “You were pretty creepy back then, huh?”

It was like a candle got blown out. Cas straightened his back, his face smoothing out into something unreadable. “I’ve learned more human manners,” he agreed. “Goodnight.” He turned, walking to the doorway. 

Behind Cas’s back, memory-Dean’s face had dropped. Because he felt like something had slipped away, like he had done something very wrong.

Cas walked out of the room, not even glancing at in the doorway. Dean followed him down the hallway, a hand outstretched. 

“Cas,” he called miserably. “Cas, please.”

Cas stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. Dean’s heart quickened. 

The words were full in his mouth, almost pushing past his lips: _I was joking because I was being stupid. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t know if you felt the same. But I should have told you. I should have—_

When there was only silence, Cas looked away. He continued down the hall. 

“No,” Dean whispered, stumbling forward. “No, Cas—”

The hallway shook and got darker. Dean turned, even though he already knew what he would see. The Empty was in John Winchester’s form now, his grin wide and wild. His eyes glowed a deep red.

Dean sprinted down the hallway. He heard the Empty following him in measured steps. Dean caught up to Cas, reaching for him, shouting his name as his hand landed solidly on his arm. Cas’s surprised eyes met his for just a moment before the scene around him flashed blue, everything falling away when—

He opened his eyes.

Cas was gone, as was the bunker; in its place was a stretch of neighborhood road. Two-story houses, all pristine and nearly identical, lined either side of the street. Parked in front of a white cookie-cutter house was Cas’s brown pickup truck. The lights were off, but the engine was idling. 

Dean hesitantly walked up to it, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by the Empty. When he saw who was in the driver’s window, his heart jumped.

It was Cas. His hands were on the steering wheel, his mouth in a tight line as he stared ahead. Crowley was in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers against his leg. 

“I don’t remember this,” Dean said out loud. Neither Crowley nor Cas looked at him. 

Dean tried the driver’s door; it was locked. He banged his fist against the window, yelling Cas’s name. Cas didn’t react. With a frustrated growl, Dean went around to the passenger door, only to find the same situation. As he pounded at the window, Crowley suddenly rolled it down; Dean jumped back in surprise. 

But instead of addressing Dean, Crowley let out a long, anguished sigh. “How long are we going to be here, anyway?” 

Cas glared at him. “You’re drawing attention.”

“I need the fresh air. Don’t take this personally—actually, maybe you should—but this truck smells like wet hellhounds.” 

Cas rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply. He tightened his hands against the steering wheel. 

“Look, why are we even doing this?” Crowley asked, gesturing toward the house. “We can just go in. Talk to her.” 

“This is what Dean and Sam always do,” Cas said. “Scope out the situation before making a move.” 

“This is _suburbia_ ,” Crowley snapped. “You really think this Vince’s sister is a crazed murderer?”

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise; this must have been when they were tracking down Lucifer’s vessel. When Cas and Crowley went off to hunt on their own. 

Dean leaned in toward the window, staring at Cas’s profile. “Cas… these are your memories, aren’t they?” 

But Cas didn’t react; instead he adjusted his hands on the wheel, glaring at Crowley. “We’ll go in a minute.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Bollocks.” When Cas didn’t react, Crowley laughed and shook his head. “Well, I should have known. You always did seem like an antisocial little bugger. Got any breath mints before we go in?”

As Crowley’s hand went to the glove compartment, Cas’s eyes minutely widened. He grabbed Crowley’s wrist before he could unhitch the latch. 

Crowley’s lips pulled back into a grin. “Got something dirty in here, angel?” He quickly unlatched the compartment with his other hand, snatching the only object that was in there: a mixtape.

Dean winced in secondhand embarrassment. “God damn it,” he whispered. 

“‘Dean’s top 13 Zepp Traxx’?” Crowley read the title out loud, hissing loudly on the x’s. “What is this, some kind of audio porn?” 

Cas grabbed Crowley’s other wrist, his eyes flashing a bright blue. “ _Drop it_ ,” he snapped. 

“All right, all right. Cool it.” Crowley primly placed the tape into Cas’s open palm. He adjusted his coat, frowning at the dashboard. “So, lover boy finally go soft on you or something?”

“No.” Cas held the mixtape protectively in his lap. “Dean gave it to me for long road trips. Since I can’t fly.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’d barf if I still had a gag reflex.” 

They sat in silence. The plastic encasing the mixtape clicked as Cas tapped a fingernail against it nervously. Finally, Crowley popped his lips, sighing. 

“You know, if I were you: I’d regret it. The whole thing. This jerking back and forth… it’s like some sort of demented dance with him. Never stops.” 

_Angels and demons dream about their regrets in the Empty,_ Dean remembered Cas telling him. _They play them on repeat._ Cold trickling down his spine, Dean could only stare. 

A muscle popped in Cas’s jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Crowley’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And, here. Let me give you a little spoiler.” He reached over to pat Cas on the knee. “It only ends in heartbreak. You don’t think you have a heart for him to break. But he’ll find it. And he’ll break it.” Winking, Crowley clicked his tongue. “Keep that in mind, angel.” 

Dean stumbled back in surprise as Crowley pushed open the door. He clenched his fists, glaring at Crowley as he sauntered by. “Goddamn son of a bitch,” he growled, knowing that he wouldn’t be heard. He opened the passenger door again and slid into the seat, looking at Cas, who stared despondently down at the mixtape. 

“Cas,” Dean said, voice hoarse. “Cas, don’t listen to him, okay? It’s bullshit. It’s not true.”

Cas, predictably, didn’t reply. Just kept staring down at the mixtape, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. 

It took weeks for Dean to figure out what to put on that mixtape. He didn’t even think Cas would like any of the songs. In the end, he threw his favorites on there in some Hail Mary hope that Cas would somehow like them too. He didn’t expect Cas to keep it. For him to make sure that it went from the old Lincoln to this truck. 

It took him _weeks_ to make that mixtape, and all he did was toss it at Cas in the bunker one morning like it was no big deal, with a cursory “For when you get bored on the road,” walking by too fast to see Cas’s reaction, his own cheeks burning. 

Dean swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Cas, do… do you regret…” 

Cas raised his head. Dean’s breath caught. He slowly turned to look at Dean— _look_ at him as if he was truly there. 

“Do you regret loving me?” The question was a whisper, said in barely a voice. 

Cas blinked at him. Slowly reached out a hand, his fingers trailing the air. “Dean?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Cas.” Dean choked on a sob, trying to catch Cas’s hand, but grabbing air instead. “Cas, are we in your memories? Are you asleep? What’s going on?”

The car shook with a sudden jerk. Outside the windshield, the sky grew dark and grey. Eyes wide and frantic, Cas opened the car door, stumbling outside. 

“No, Cas, wait—” Dean launched himself over the seat, scrambling out of the car. The street was empty; Cas and Crowley were gone. The wind began to pick up as a screeching roar came from behind Dean. 

“Damn it,” Dean gritted out, grabbing at his hair. “Damn it, damn it—” 

The string appeared in front of him, blue and vibrant. He grabbed onto it before the Empty snapped him up in its jaws.

Dean opened his eyes.

This time, the memory was quick—he was in the bunker with Cas, in his self-constructed man cave, _Tombstone_ playing on the screen. He and Cas sat inches apart, and Dean’s eyes kept nervously flickering over to Cas, gauging his reactions to the movie. Cas snapped at him to stop, that he couldn’t possibly enjoy the movie with Dean ‘hovering’. Dean rolled his eyes and called Cas bitchy. 

Cas’s hand moved toward Dean’s at the end of the movie as they stood, almost as a reaction rather than a calculated thought. Dean hadn’t noticed, and walked away as Cas stood empty handed. 

The blue string tied around Dean’s wrist, yanking him again. 

He saw the gas station where Cas worked when he was human and Nora asked if Dean was an ex-boyfriend. Cas admitted, quietly, that he and Dean were never in a relationship. Nora raised an eyebrow, commenting that it sure looked like heartbreak somehow. 

The string pulled him again.

Dean saw Cas dying, bleeding out on the couch— _I love you, I love all of you_ —and Dean glaring, looking away as Cas stared straight at him while saying the words. How he couldn’t even look at Cas, or say it back.

The Empty’s cruel laugh rang behind him. The string caught him, tugged him away. 

The memories began to increase in speed, like a demented merry-go-round. He knew each like the back of his hand, and how he screwed up in every single one: 

He saw Cas fighting the archangels, a brilliant white light surrounding him as he got torn apart, limb to limb, screaming—all so Dean could get away. 

The string tugged again, and then Dean saw himself kicking Cas out of the bunker for Sam’s safety, Cas accepting the backpack Dean handed to him without a word, standing there as Dean closed the bunker door.

He saw his own knuckles imprinted in Cas’s face, the angel blade raised high, Cas barely fighting him and holding the mark on Dean’s arm tight in his fist. 

The string kept pulling him, and Dean kept seeing Cas, bleeding love for Dean through every pore: being so _obvious_. And before, Dean didn’t see it. He didn’t want to believe it. The memories flashed in front of him, the Empty roared behind him. Dean clapped his hands over his ears and fell to his knees, his breathing tight, his panic rising—

_Dean._

With a single note of Cas’s voice, the memories all fell away like a wave cresting the shore. Looking up, Dean saw the surface of the water, the light shimmering above. 

The thread floated in front of him in the still, freezing water. Lungs burning, chest aching, Dean grabbed it, frantically kicking his legs and flailing his arms, desperate for the surface. 

He opened his eyes. 

He was on the hill outside of the bunker. 

The few trees scattered on the hill were dipped with gold and brown colors, their leaves falling gracefully to the ground as the wind blew. The bare cornfields below expanded and bled into a dark blue horizon. The sun hung heavily in the sky. Across the field, Dean could see dark clouds gathering with the promise of a storm.

Cas sat underneath one of the trees, his legs tucked up into his chest, his elbows resting on his knees. He smiled as Dean approached. 

“You really don’t ever come up here and sit?” he asked, tilting his head back and squinting up at Dean. “It’s really beautiful up here.” 

Cas was looking at him. He _saw_ him. Dean just stared.

“You and Sam should take the time to sit out here sometimes,” Cas commented, not noticing Dean’s internal panic. He turned his head back to the horizon. “Fresh air is a good thing.”

Carefully, Dean sat next to Cas, his back stiff and muscles tight. He remembered this memory. But unlike the memories before, there was no past Dean here—it was only him, now. 

“There’s a storm coming,” he said, voice hoarse. “Can’t be more than ten miles away.”

Cas hummed. “We have time.”

Crickets buzzed lazily around them. A pair of cardinals perched on the branch above them, chirping irritably at each other before flying off. The wind brushed against Dean’s cheeks; a nudge. 

“I have to apologize for something,” Dean said.

Frowning, Cas glanced at him. “If this is about what happened with Billie…” 

“No, it’s—” Dean huffed out a dry laugh. “Well, considering all that happens from _that,_ you should be apologizing to me.” At Cas’s confused face, Dean waved a hand. “It’s—it’s not important.” 

A touch, feather-light, landed on Dean’s shoulder as Cas gripped his arm. “It _is_ important.” 

Dean nearly lost it at the familiarly earnest look in Cas’s eyes. He grabbed at Cas’s hand, unable to help himself. Cas’s frown deepened. 

“Dean…” 

“No, listen.” Closing his eyes, Dean let out a sharp breath. “I know that—you regret me. I know that you’re in here, dreaming about your regrets, and I’m the common denominator in all of them. I know you said you’re at peace with the deal you made, with everything that was gonna happen, but—but you didn’t ask for this.”

Cas let out a small laugh. “I’m dreaming? Dean, what—”

“You didn’t ask for me to barge into your life, to make you question everything, for me to… make you rip up that narrative. To make your whole story a fucking tragedy.” 

“Dean.” Cas tried to pull his hand away; Dean held on. “What’s going on?” 

Dean sniffed, trying to get himself under control. “I’ve missed you so much. And I didn’t—I didn’t _tell_ you that. I never made it obvious or clear.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking. Cas, his concern obviously overriding his confusion, placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I should have gotten over my goddamn intimacy issues and just—just _told_ you. Shouldn’t have made you think that what you wanted was something you couldn’t have.” 

The storm drew in closer; the sky grew darker. 

“And I know you regret it,” Dean said. “I saw your memories, how you regret me, regret us, and—and that’s okay. I just…” Dean trailed off, unable to find the words. He shook his head, staring at the ground. 

“No, Dean.” Cas firmly grabbed Dean’s arm. “You aren’t a regret, Dean. You never could be.” 

“But I never said it back,” Dean whispered. “I never told you.” 

Cas withdrew his hand. Frowned. He glanced around the hill and the scene around them—

“Wait.” He slowly rose to his feet, staring down at his hands. “This is a dream. This...”

“Hey, Cas, wait—I’m real.” Dean scrambled to his feet, quickly wiping his eyes. “I’m real, see?” 

He put a hand on Cas’s arm. Cas looked down at his hand, and then up at Dean with wild eyes. 

“But you can’t be. The Empty…”

“Cas, you’re _asleep_. You gotta wake up, snap out of it.” 

“I’m…” Cas shook his head, understanding dawning on his face. “Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled, relief flooding through him. He held Cas’s shoulder tighter, shaking it lightly. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“You’re…” Cas’s smile dropped. “No. No, I _saved_ you. You were safe. You shouldn’t have come, it’s too dangerous.” 

Dean frowned. Crossing his arms, he shot back, “Well that’s just too damn bad, because I did. You really think I was just gonna leave you here?”

Sucking in a breath, Cas whispered, “That was what I had hoped, yes.” He glanced at the dark horizon. “You need to leave. I’ve tried to hold it off as long as I can but—”

“You mean the Empty? Cas—I can get you out. We have a whole plan. I’ll pray to Jack, he gets us out of here, fixes the tear—then we’re home free.”

“It won’t work,” Cas said. The storm clouds rolled in faster. “It was my grace, Dean. _I_ did this.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Cas frowned at his hands. “The tear. It’s because of my grace. When the Empty threw me in here, it wanted to use me to explode the two worlds. Make it so that nothing would be left. But I created a shell. If I stay asleep, contain it, the tear won’t get bigger.” He shook his head, gritting his jaw. “If I wake up, it’ll be unstable. Everyone—Jack, Sam, Eileen…” A scared look passed over his face, and he glanced upwards. “They all could die.”

Dean tilted his eyes toward the sky, following Cas’s gaze. He now saw the dome that surrounded and contained them. The storm clouds were pushing against it, flashing blue against the barrier. If Dean squinted, he could see tiny, spidery cracks forming, like ice cracking against the pressure. 

It was still just Cas’s dream; he knew that. He could touch Cas and feel him, but it wasn’t reality. It was a fragment of Cas’s mind made up of ‘almosts’—unsaid words, untaken chances, regrets of what couldn’t have been. It was only the almosts that Cas and Dean ever had. But there had to be more. A way to get out; to live. 

Dean scanned his eyes over the dome, watching the cracks grow bigger. He murmured, “So you blow your grace up somewhere else.” 

Cas frowned. “What?”

Dean met Cas’s eyes, gripping his shoulder tighter. “You can let your grace explode—but aim it at the Empty. It’s been chasing me through your memories this whole time. I’d bet money that it’s right outside your shell or whatever you call it, just waiting for us to walk out of here.” 

“I…” Cas’s face contorted as he shook his head. The storm was suddenly above them, rain pelting their cheeks. “There’s no guarantee it wouldn’t make the tear bigger. Or that you’d even be safe.”

“But it’s a _chance_ , Cas. And if it means getting you back topside, I think it’s damn well worth taking.” 

Closing his eyes, Cas drew in a breath. “I.. I was at peace with the deal. I knew that it’d make me leave you, leave Jack and Sam, but I was at peace with it. Because I knew that it would be the only thing that would save you.”

“Well _I’m_ not at peace with it,” Dean said, his voice firm. “I get why you did it but you left me, left us, but I…” Dean held out his hands. “You were just… gone. And I had your voice, but—I didn’t even know if that was real.” 

“My voice?” Cas asked softly. Frowning, he reached toward Dean’s arm, his fingers tracing the outline where his handprint used to be through Dean’s shirt. He tilted his head. “I… sense my grace in you. How is that possible?”

There was a click in Dean’s throat as he swallowed hard. He stared down at Cas’s hand, blinking. A warmth he hadn’t noticed before radiated through his arm, starting from Cas’s fingertips and spreading across his skin. 

“You were never just a voice,” Dean said softly, in awe. “You were there the whole time.” 

“Your prayers, when—when you spoke to me,” Cas said. “I thought they were dreams. That it was the Empty, mocking me.” 

“It was me, Cas. It was me trying to find you, trying to get you out.” Dean bit at the inside of his cheek, tampering down the burning in his chest. “We can get you out of here, but you have to fight for it. Okay?” 

Cas stared at the ground and didn’t reply. The pouring rain dotted his creased forehead.

“If I have some of your grace, we can use it to get out—can’t we?” Thunder rumbled around them, a warning, as Dean stepped closer. “You could use me to bust us through the tear, right? It’s your grace, so we can use it. And then Jack can do the rest; put me back in my regular body, repair the tear.” 

Cas’s eyes remained on Dean’s arm. “It’s possible…” 

“If it’s possible, then we gotta try. You _know_ that even if Jack repairs the tear, that the Empty’s still gonna try to use you as a way to open it up again.” Dean brushed his wet hair from his forehead. “I know this plan’s a long shot, but it’s better than the alternative: that you stay here and die.”

Cas’s shoulders squared as he fell into his familiar determined look. He shook his head firmly. “It’s too much of a gamble. If you leave now, you’ll live. Jack can repair the tear, and you can live.” 

Dean gritted his teeth. He clenched a fist, taking a step forward. “Cas, I’m not leaving without—”

“Dean—” Cas bit out.

“ _Cas._ ” Dean grabbed Cas’s shoulders, holding tight, steadying himself. Softly, under the roar of the rain, he said, “I know how you see yourself.”

Cas drew in a quick breath, his jaw clicking shut as he stared. Lightning flashed; the storm suddenly slowed, the rain suspending. 

“You see yourself the same way Chuck sees you. An instrument, a tool—broken.” Dean paused, licking his lips. “You think that’s who you are—a sacrifice. But it’s not.” 

Cas let out an unsteady breath. “Everything you’ve ever done, the good and the bad, you’ve done for love.” It was recited like a practiced poem, a prayer. 

Lightning cracked open the clouds. Small flashes of electric blue danced through the air. 

“You’ve done so much good,” Dean whispered. “You helped save Sam, save Jack— _you_ saved the world. And it’s all because you cared.”

“I cared because you cared,” Cas murmured.

“It’s not just that, Cas. It’s not just ‘cause of me.” Dean swallowed hard, his voice constricting, feeling like at any second he’d shatter. “But you’re more than that. You’re the dumb obsession you have with bees. You’re all the love that you show to… to people, even when it hurts.”

Cas’s hands gripped Dean’s arms, spasmed.

“You’re kind even when the world isn’t kind to you. You were kind to Jack, to Sam, to Claire, to me—” Dean let out a sharp breath. “You changed me, too, Cas. Just by being you.” 

“Dean… don’t do this,” Cas whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting. “This... this has to be a goodbye.”

“No, it doesn’t. Because you can have this. Have me.” Dean slipped his hand down to Cas’s, weaving their fingers together. Cas softly inhaled as their palms pressed, crossing an invisible boundary. 

“All you need to do is trust me. To let me help you find another way.” Dean gripped Cas’s hand tighter, feeling the thrumming panic rising in his chest. “ _Please_.” 

Lightning struck the ground, yards away from where they stood. Cas stared down at their joined hands. Dean stood, muscles frozen, unable to move as he waited for Cas to respond—to say anything. 

Cas suddenly pitched forward, winding his arms around Dean’s shoulders, hugging him tightly to his chest. Dean pressed a hand between Cas’s shoulder blades, feeling him warm and alive, his shoulders sagging in relief.

“Whatever happens, keep holding onto me,” Cas whispered into Dean’s shoulder. 

The blue thread floated in front of them, bright and vibrant against the rain. Cas pulled away from Dean, his hand outstretched. Outside the shell was a deafening, horrifying roar—shadows began to pound at the shell, bright blue shards falling from the sky as the shell chipped and cracked. Cas guided their joined hands to Dean’s shoulder, his palm fitting where the handprint used to be. Warmth spread through Dean’s skin as the space around them began to glow a brilliant blue.

The shadows broke through. The Empty’s fiery red eyes stared straight at Dean and Cas as its bared teeth opened, diving toward them. 

Cas grabbed the blue string—and _pulled_.

A stream of light, concentrated and large, blasted around them. Dean covered his head with one arm, his other hand still holding onto Cas tightly as Cas’s body began to morph into something large, terrifying—his wings tattered and drooping but still fierce and bright. Cas moved a giant arm made of pure light, pointing it toward the shadows. The Empty screamed in pain as the blast of light slammed into it, shining brilliantly until Dean had to close his eyes against it. 

The wind howled around them, the storm grew louder—a cyclone of wind pushed Dean backwards, his hand slipping from Cas’s as he fell down, down—

He opened his eyes. 

And with a deep, gasping breath, Castiel woke.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 ;) 
> 
> (as usual [my tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com) is open for you to scream at)


	11. how rare and beautiful it is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY EVERYONE. a few announcements before i start: 
> 
> 1\. i'm making this into a sequel, possibly a series. it's exciting and terrifying but i also have so many ideas and i can't just leave our boys hanging after cas's rescue. there's just more i wanna do!! so get excited about that. 
> 
> 2\. because of the length of this chapter and the last, and the fact that i'm not splitting them up like i thought i would, the number of chapters actually has changed. which means, surprise, this is the last one before the epilogue!! it's also 8k so be sure to drink a lot of water as you go 
> 
> 3\. this is where i get really emotional about every single one of you and all the support you've given me as i write this fic and posted it. the outpouring of love has been AMAZING and i'm so honored to share this story with you. even through the stress of plot hangups and editing and writer's blocks i've really loved this process. and i can't wait to continue this into a potential series<3
> 
> okay enough from me. enjoy the chapter. :)

Dean was standing in the middle of the grey field. 

Palms open, head tilted back to look toward the sky, he watched as the sky began to change above him. The world was fading, disappearing; flaking away like old paint curling on a wall. 

A hand gently fell on his shoulder. He turned to Cas, standing just behind him. His face was a warm, welcome light against the grey backdrop. 

Dean smiled—placed his hand over Cas’s. The Empty’s puddles of black began to rise into the air around them, dissipating in long, dark tendrils. He wound their fingers together as a blue light glowed from their hands. 

_Whatever happens, keep holding onto me,_ echoed Cas’s words in his mind. Spindly, thin wings spread from Cas’s back. They began to flake away, like the world around them. Dean looked up at Cas, and saw the answer to his own question in Cas’s sure, confident smile.

Cas’s wings moved once, stirring the dead air around them. Dean gripped tighter, his knuckles aching from the strain.The world faded around them, fizzling in and out like a bad television connection. The last thing Dean saw was Cas’s eyes, bright and blue and filling the dark. 

A light blinded him as Dean cracked open his eyes.

He blinked away the dryness, turning his head away from the source. A ceiling fan spun overhead, its lightbulb giving off a harsh glow. Dean stared at the cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. 

He groaned when he tried to lift his head, feeling his sore joints popping as he moved. A chair clattered to his left and suddenly the ceiling was replaced by Sam’s face, wide-eyed and surprised, shouting, “Dean!” 

“Shut _up_ ,” Dean grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Here—hang on.” Sam hooked his hands underneath Dean’s shoulders, hoisting him up to prop against the headboard. He sat back in his chair, holding out a hand like Dean might collapse again at any minute. “How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Sick?”

“Sammy, cool it—I’m fine.” Dean rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He glanced around the room. “How long was I out?”

Sam shifted in his chair, lips twisting. “Uh—three days.”

“Three—” The events started to spill back into his brain—the Empty, Cas, the makeshift grace bomb. Wildly, Dean looked around the room, seeing that they were in one of Jody’s spare rooms. Dean’s duffel bag was scattered across the floor, the Sibelius CD he was listening to the night before he left sitting on the bedside table. 

“Where’s Cas?” he asked, softly but then with his voice rising. “Where’s Cas, is he—”

“Dean, hang on.” Sam firmly pushed at his shoulders, stopping him from jumping out of the bed. “He’s okay. He’s in the next room.”

Breath stuttering a beat, Dean repeated, “He’s in the…” 

“—next room,” Sam finished for him. He smiled wide. “He woke up just a couple of minutes before you did.” 

Dean blinked at his hands. Cas was alive. Cas was in the next room. “Well, shit,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, grinning. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Okay, well—don’t just stand there like an idiot, help me up!” Dean swung his numb legs over the side of the bed, waving his hand at Sam. “Give me your shoulder, or I’m gonna crawl there.”

With a quick roll of his eyes, Sam grabbed Dean’s arm before he toppled to the ground. “Jack said your body would be weak and that you shouldn’t push it.” 

“Not taking advice from a three-year-old,” Dean grumbled as he limped toward the door, most of his weight bearing on his brother’s shoulder. 

The walk to the next bedroom felt endless. Dean’s legs were numb from disuse, his muscles shaking from the added strain. He felt the tugging at his chest, that thread that pulled him toward the bedroom door across the hall. He heard voices coming from behind it; Jack’s quiet laugh, and Claire’s unusually animated voice. Dean pushed open the door, sunlight from the room spilling onto him. His breath caught. He stood still.

Claire and Jack were on opposite edges of the bed, smiling widely at Dean. Gabriel was standing just offset, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. And in the bed, lying with his back propped up on the pillows, was—

“Cas,” Dean said, voice shaky. 

Cas turned his head toward Dean. His face broke into a wide and broad smile. “Dean.” 

It was like the world fell away. Nobody else was there, nobody was watching—it was just Cas, whole and alive and a little bruised, lying there in front of him. Dean felt that familiar fracture in his chest, that brokenness that throbbed. But this time he could move forward, step on shaky legs toward Cas. This time he could tip forward, falling on his knees at the edge of the bed, grabbing Cas’s arm which was warm and real and _there_ , feeling that brokenness inside him knit itself whole.

“You made it out.” Dean rapidly blinked away the moisture in his eyes. “You made it out, you’re—”

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, running a hand over Dean’s arm, his eyes trailing across Dean’s face. “Does anything hurt?”

 _Not anymore._ Dean swallowed around a lump in his throat and shook his head. His face hurt from smiling. “No, I’m fine, Cas, I’m—I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“He’s more than okay,” Gabriel chimed in. “He should feel pretty proud, closing that tear himself.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s arm tighter. “Wait, so—the plan worked?” 

Cas’s smile flickered toward Jack. “My grace started the repair. Jack’s took care of the rest.” 

“The portals all disappeared too,” Sam added, coming to sit on the bed next to Claire. “No more demon or angel escapes, thankfully.”

“Eileen and Jody are pretty happy about that,” Claire said. “There was a whole new wave of demons in North Dakota. They had to go take care of them while you were doing crime in the Empty.” 

Dean frowned. “If the portals are gone, that means… is the Empty really dead?”

“As doornails,” Gabriel agreed, running a finger over his throat. “Turns out that grace bomb of Cassie’s worked.” 

“That’s because it was a good plan,” Cas said. His gaze didn’t leave Dean’s as he said it. Dean tampered the surge of pride in his chest. 

“So the grace, that was… in me.” He paused, rolling his eyes as Claire made an emphatically disgusted sound. “You have that now, right? Because you used it to get out?”

Cas’s smile faded just a fraction. He settled back against the headboard, chewing at his lip. “I did use it to get out, yes.” He exchanged a glance with Gabriel. 

“What?” Dean looked between all of them, noticing the way the room had gone quiet. “What am I missing?” 

When no one replied, he was ready to open his mouth again, ready to demand someone tell him what the hell was going on, when he caught the movement in Cas’s hands. They were shaking, ever so slightly in his lap. And his skin, it was paler—duller, even against his smile. 

“You’re human,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

Cas raised his head to look at Dean. “Yes.” 

Somehow, the room’s silence got more deafening. 

“Well,” Claire said, smacking her knees. “That’s my cue. Gonna go see if Kaia’s back with that McDonald’s.” She stood, gesturing not-very-subtly to Jack, who looked confused, but followed her out of the door nonetheless. 

Dean sat back on his heels. He closed his eyes briefly at the panic thrumming through his chest. “So your… your grace is gone? Totally gone?”

Nodding, Cas said, “I used it to get both of us out. Go through the tear, and repair it as we left. It was the only way to ensure the antimatter wouldn’t somehow get through.”

“Yeah. Yeah, makes sense.” Dean chewed at the inside of his cheek, feeling the raised skin there from when he had done it hundreds of times before. He trained his eyes on his hands, locking his muscles to stop them from shaking. 

“That why you’re in bed?” he finally asked, licking his dry lips. “‘cause you have to be?”

“Basic run of the mill ex-angel confronting humanity after his grace was traumatically blown apart,” Gabriel said with a breezy wave of his hand. “Nothing too unusual.” 

Cas swung a glare toward Gabriel. “I was confined to this bed against my will, actually.” 

“I mean, you can’t really walk yet, Cas,” Sam said. When Dean swung around with a panicked look, Sam added gently, “Jack checked him over, he’s completely fine. Just needs some time.”

Dean nodded. The inside of his cheek throbbed. “Yeah. Yeah, as long as you’ll be fine. That’s what matters.”

Cas’s brow creased. His sharp eyes trailed across Dean’s face. “Are you all right?”

Dean clenched his jaw, briefly rubbing at a soreness in his chest. First time he saw Cas as a human, he was having orgies and miserable. Second time, he was homeless and could barely look Dean in the eye. Third time… well, the third time it was Dean’s plan that got him this way. He closed his eyes briefly, seeing Cas’s tattered wings stretching across a grey sky. 

It was his plan. It was his fault. 

He’d just have to live with that. 

“You probably need water.” Dean ignored Cas’s raised eyebrows, awkwardly lifting himself up to stand. “Hydrating yourself was the thing you were worst at when you were human before. Have you had any water yet?”

Cas shook his head slowly. “Uh… no. I haven’t.” 

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Figures.” He climbed shakily to his feet, waving Sam off. “I’m fine, I got it. Need to stretch my legs anyway.” 

“Dean,” Cas began.

“Cas, it’s fine. Seriously. Think about getting better, okay?” Dean placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder, his thumb briefly swiping across the nape of Cas’s neck. “I missed you. So goddamn much. And I’m just glad you’re back.”

Cas’s eyes softened. He placed a hand over Dean’s. “Me too,” he whispered. 

Dean cleared his throat. Nodded. “Okay. Be back with that water.” 

He heard Sam’s footsteps follow him out to the hallway, and felt Sam’s hand grab his arm. 

“Are you really okay?” Sam asked softly. 

Dean swallowed his smile. Wiped a hand over his face. “Well, we saw how peachy things went last time Cas was human. So how do you think I am?” 

“I don’t think this time is as bad as you think,” Sam said. “He seems at peace with it.” 

“Yeah. Until he starts realizing it’s my fault.” Shrugging out of Sam’s grip, Dean nodded his head toward the end of the hallway. “Gonna get that water.”

Sam’s long, defeated sigh followed him down the hallway.

* * *

A day went past. Then two. And the other shoe didn’t drop. 

Cas was a grumpy patient. He didn’t like taking the vitamins that Sam shoved at him, or the vegetables that Jody kept roasting for him. And Dean didn’t miss the hint of murderous intent in Cas’s eyes when Dean kept forcing him to drink water every hour.

But other than that he seemed… happy. Content. Joyful, even. 

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that he was faking it.

Jody, Donna, and Eileen came home from their joint demon hunt a few days after Cas and Dean woke up, covered in dirt and blood and smiling ear to ear. Eileen rushed into the bedroom to greet Cas, hugging him with a broad smile, inadvertently knocking over the board game that Claire had set up on the bed. Cas let out a real, full laugh when Jack wrinkled his nose and undiplomatically told Eileen that she needed a shower. 

Cas was able to get out of bed and roam around during the third day. He kept running his hands over everything—books, different texture surfaces of tables and even the living room rug, the flannel that Sam leant him. It was like seeing a kid experience new things for the first time. And every time he discovered something new, his face got even softer. More peaceful. 

Cas insisted on taking Miracle for walks so that he could be outside. Jack, who hadn’t really left Cas’s side since he came back, always opted to take those walks with him. When she was around, Claire would join too, which meant of course Kaia went along, and sooner than later it was Cas taking slow walks around the block with his new human legs, Miracle tugging at the leash, the kids following him like a gaggle of ducklings. 

Dean couldn’t help but soak in every one of Cas’s smiles, every laugh, every breath. He instructed himself to tamper down the worry of Cas being human, of just taking the win of Cas being alive and whole. He and Cas were never really alone—it was circumstantial, since everyone seemed to want Cas’s time to shower him with conversation (Sam) or teach him video games (Claire) or watch fun movies for hours (Jack). Dean never left Cas’s side for longer than strictly necessary, tagging along or hanging back on whatever Cas did, but he was secretly relieved. Being alone meant they had to talk about what happened in the Empty. Dean had a feeling it would turn into another argument—that it would make the other shoe drop.

So he kept making meals for Cas, bringing him water, making sure he was getting all he needed—all the while avoiding the question in Cas’s eyes. 

At night Dean would sometimes dream about Chuck showing up, taking Cas away—or the Empty not really being dead and enveloping Cas in a dark, black substance. Those nights he opted to drink alone at the kitchen table under a flickering lightbulb. 

And the next morning, when he saw Cas’s beaming and alive and healthy face at breakfast, Dean would spoon a pile of eggs on his plate, smile at Cas’s soft “Thank you, Dean,” all the while instructing himself to take the win. 

Cas was alive; he could deal with the fallout later. 

* * *

On the fourth day of Cas being back, Dean was wiping at his tired eyes and walking down the hall, a glass of water for Cas in hand, when he heard Jack and Cas’s voices floating through the half-open door. He slowed his steps, listening.

“—don’t know if it’ll work,” Jack was saying softly as Dean came into earshot. “But I know that I hate being this, doing… this. If there’s a way I’ll take it.”

“There is,” Cas said firmly. “If you were able to consume Amara’s power, then you can reject it, in a sense. Go back to what power you had before.”

Dean stopped in the doorway. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, back toward the door. Cas was tucked into a quilt, dressed in one of Sam’s baggy flannels (something about Dean’s clothes being on Cas was too intimate too soon, so Dean threw something of Sam’s at him instead). A cup of steaming coffee was poised in his hands. Cas’s eyes flickered over Jack’s head, noticing Dean as he came into view.

“Not before I help you get your grace back, though,” Jack said firmly. 

Cas frowned. “Do you know how?” 

“No, but I can learn.” Jack shifted on the bed, his back a tense line. “Amara said that Chuck didn’t know everything at first—he just needed to learn. It could take a while, but… I could do it.”

“Jack—no.” 

“If I can help you, I want to do it,” Jack continued, his voice tightening, “and now that I have this power I should do something with it, I should help. You shouldn’t have to—”

“Jack,” Cas said firmly. He placed a hand on Jack’s arm, shaking his head. “Thank you for offering, but—don’t go down that road. You’re a child. It’s my job to take care of you; not the other way around. God or not.”

“But you’re human now.” Jack ran a sleeve over his nose, sniffing. “I just thought…” 

“Your freedom and happiness is more important to me than getting my grace back.” Cas tilted his head, flashing Jack a reassuring smile. “And I’m fine with this. I really am. You just have to trust me.” 

Jack picked at a thread on the quilt spread over the bed, hanging his head. “If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Cas said. 

Dean frowned down at the glass in his hands. The water was rippling from his slightly shaky hands.

“If I can separate with Amara, and… even if I didn’t have the same power I had, or any power,” Jack said softly, “I wouldn’t care. I’m not afraid to be human, or normal. It seems… easier.”

Cas smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing is easy, Jack.”

“Easier than being god, then.” Jack sighed. “I don’t want all this responsibility. I don’t want Dean to look at me like he doesn’t trust me. I just want…” 

“To be a kid,” Cas finished softly for him. 

Jack sniffed, nodding. “Yeah.”

“And Jack—Dean trusts you,” Cas added, placing a hand on his arm. “He has no reason not to.” 

“I don’t blame him.” Jack shrugged. “He has a bad experience with gods.”

“Yes, but it’s you.” Cas looked pointedly at Dean, his voice rising a fraction as he added, “And I’m sure if he were listening to this right now, then I’m positive that he’d say exactly what I’m saying. Right?” 

Dean rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. The little shit. Clearing his throat, he stepped through the doorway. Jack turned a startled gaze toward him as Dean patted his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter if you’re god or depowered, okay?” Dean tried for a reassuring smile. “I know I was harsh before when Cas, was, uh… gone. But I didn’t mean it.” 

Jack nodded, looking down at his hands. “It was your grief that made you say those things. That’s what Sam said.” 

Warmth rising to Dean’s cheeks, he avoided Cas’s eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. And no matter what you end up being, I, uh—you’re family. Don’t forget that.”

Jack turned his head to beam up at Dean; the first genuine smile Dean had seen from him in weeks. “Thank you.” He rose from the bed to attack Dean in a surprise hug. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, patting Jack’s back. He raised an eyebrow at Cas’s smug and satisfied smile as he leaned back against the headboard, sipping at his coffee. “You’re doing good, kid. Just remember that.” 

Jack took a step back from Dean, sloppily attempting a pair of finger guns. “And I’m still a Winchester, right?”

Dean looked incredulously at Jack’s hands. “The hell are you trying to do?” 

“Claire told me it’s your signature move. And then she started talking about you being ‘bye’. Did she mean that this gesture is how you say goodbye?” 

Cas choked on his coffee.

Dean let out a very tired sigh and pushed Jack toward the door. “You go tell Claire that she better start respecting her damn elders before she gets my footprint on her ass.”

Jack bounced toward the door, nodding. “She wanted me to help her pick out another game for Cas anyway. I’ll go find her.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean muttered, “Jesus Christ.” He looked up to see Cas’s shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in the laughter. Pointing an authoritative finger, Dean said, “Hey. No comments from the peanut gallery, all right?”

Cas cleared his throat, wiping at an eye, grinning. “I’ll refrain on your behalf.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will, smartass.” Dean rolled his eyes as Cas took a prim sip of coffee. 

Tapping his fingers against the water glass, Dean chewed at his lip. “So. Jack finally told you all about him being the new god, huh?”

Face dropping out of a smile, Cas nodded slowly. “Yes. About Amara taking over when he went to the Empty to try and rescue me, too.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Yeah. We didn’t exactly do the best job looking out for him while you were…” He swallowed hard, finishing lamely, “...gone.” 

“From what Jack told me, taking Chuck’s power was a necessary sacrifice.” 

“Yeah. Lot of ‘necessary sacrifices’ going around lately.” Realizing what he said, Dean quickly cleared his throat and held up the water. “Brought you this, since you suck at hydrating.”

Cas pointed to his coffee; Dean shook his head. “Caffeine dehydrates you.”

“Oh.” Cas frowned down at the dark liquid like it did a personal disservice. “That’s a shame.” 

“This’ll help, though.” Dean wound his way around the bed in the tiny room, placing the glass on the nightstand. He moved a few CDs out of the way so that the water wouldn’t accidentally make a ring of condensation on them. 

Cas, who was watching his movements, reached out and grabbed one of the CDs. “Wait…” He placed his coffee on the table, taking the CD into both hands as he stared at it. “I know this composer. Sibelius.” 

Dean’s muscles temporarily froze. Sam must have put those in here for Cas to listen to. Shaking himself out of it, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you like him.”

“I do,” Cas said, his smile small and soft. “We listened to one of his symphonies in the car once. You hated it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _hate_ —”

“Is this one of Jody’s?” Cas asked, tilting the CD case toward Dean.

Dean’s jaw worked, searching for an answer. “Well. Not exactly.” 

Cas blinked. Looked down at the CD, then back at Dean. Something dawned in his face as he ran his fingers over the CD, staring at the cover. “You bought this,” he said. “At a records store.”

Swallowing hard, Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“You listened to it. Over and over.” Cas looked up at him. “I remember now.”

“Because you weren’t just a voice the whole time you were gone,” Dean said softly. He couldn’t look at Cas, stared at the colorful CD cover instead. “You saw what I did.” 

Shifting the CD in his hands, Cas whispered, “I thought your grief was a nightmare the Empty had constructed. I didn’t know you…”

“Cas.” Dean cut him off with a desperate tone. Because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have Cas go down this path, not when his choice was taken away, again. Not when he was a human because Dean told him to fight, forced him to get them both out of there, no matter what the cost. He shook his head, meeting Cas’s wide eyes. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” 

“‘Sorry’?” Cas breathed out. “What—”

The door to the bedroom bursting open. Claire came tumbling through, a pile of board games and decks of cards in her hands, which she dumped onto the foot of the bed. Dean took a step back. 

“Okay,” she announced, plopping onto the edge of the bed by Cas’s legs. “So Jack told me you were probably gonna be bored this afternoon while we go off and do demon hunting stuff, so I brought you a bunch of old man games. Donna’s sitting this hunt out, so maybe she can play with you. She lives for this stuff.”

Still staring at Dean, Cas slowly nodded. “Okay.” 

“Thought you could start with Scrabble. Although she’ll probably kick your ass at it.” When Cas didn’t reply, Claire looked between him and Dean. “Did I, uh, interrupt something?” 

Dean stared at Cas for another long moment, his brain still rebooting. Sharply slapping his hands on his legs, he turned to Claire. “Nope. You’re good. Show Cas some games.” Marching toward the door, Dean gestured between them. “Gonna make some lunch. You two want anything?”

Claire and Cas shook their heads. Dean made a mental note to make Cas something anyway. He tapped the door frame with a falsely cheerful smile and walked down the hallway.

“Sorry,” he heard Claire whisper. “I know you’ve been wanting to talk to him.”

Shoulders hunched, Dean quickly walked away from the bedroom and toward the kitchen, well out of earshot from whatever else Claire had to say.

* * *

Sam found Dean on the back porch that night, leaning against the railing and squinting at the star-studded sky. He handed him a beer, which Dean happily took.

The sharp cracking of the two cans opening resounded in the night air. Wind tickled at Dean’s cold cheeks as he took a sip. He leaned against the wooden railing, beer hanging over the side, squinting at the line of trees that bordered Jody’s backyard. His legs still felt unused and creaky, shaky as he stood on them. 

“He doesn’t blame you, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean took another gulp. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Yeah, it was your idea to kill the Empty that way, but—it got you both out. You can’t guilt yourself for that.” 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. His eyes wandered across the treeline. A crow cawed in the distance.

“Have you told him yet how you feel?” When Dean shook his head, Sam shrugged. “Maybe you’re using this whole human thing as an excuse to not talk to him, because you’re—incorrectly—thinking that he’ll blame you.”

Dean sputtered, “I’m not—” He stopped when Sam raised an eyebrow at him. Grumbling into his beer, he admitted, “Okay. Fine. But him being a human _is_ a big deal.”

“Of course it is. And it’s something he’ll have to come to terms with. But you _should_ talk to him about where you two stand, before he starts to think he did something wrong.”

Dean gripped at the railing tighter. 

“It was easier to imagine saying all that stuff to him when he was just a voice. That I care about him, that I…” Dean shook his head. “Now that he’s here, I’m remembering how much damage I’ve done to him. Whether I meant it or not. And I can’t find the words to… to explain it to him.” 

“Maybe you don’t need words.” Sam shrugged when Dean looked at him. “Maybe you just need to show him.” 

“I thought I did, back in the Empty. But he… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like he believed it.” 

Sam leaned against the porch railing, squinting into the darkness. “You know, there’s a difference between saying something when you’re both about to die, and saying something when the dust has settled.” He paused. “Tell him without a fight going on in the background. Or death hanging over you. Tell him when you’re not being forced to.”

Dean scoffed into his beer as he took another sip. “Gee, Sammy, thought you were pre-law, not a pre-poet.” When Sam leveled him with a look, Dean waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. I do.” 

“Good.” Sam clapped him on the back. “Wanna go in? Jody’s making a roast.”

“In a minute.” As Sam walked across the porch, Dean called over his shoulder, “Make sure Cas comes out for dinner, okay?” 

Briefly hanging his head, Sam sighed. “Okay, Dean.” 

Satisfied, Dean turned back toward the yard. He frowned down at the dead grass beneath the porch. 

_It’s not a love story, it’s a tragedy,_ Chuck’s voice mocked. 

Dean swiped a hand over his face, taking a sharp sip of the rest of the beer and firmly crushing the can in his hand before turning on his heel, walking toward the sliding glass door into the warm house.

Across the yard, the trees swayed in the wind.

* * *

By the end of the week, Cas was recovered enough for Jack to agree to fly them back to the bunker. Jody insisted on one last meal before they left, since there was finally a lull in the demon hunts they were on call for. Donna announced that she’d make her famous hot dish. Everyone groaned, except for Cas, who innocently said that hot dish sounded good.

Claire hooked up her Nintendo Switch and cajoled Cas to try and play it. Jack sat on the other side of him, eyes wide at the screen, full of questions (what’s the point of this game? Why are we all cartoon characters? Why is the music so loud?). 

Dean sat across from them, beer in hand, exchanging fond eyerolls with Claire as Cas asked which one the ‘a’ button was on the controller. He kept his eyes trained on Cas, soaking him in. The color was back in his face, and although his clothes were more wrinkled and his hair a little messier than when he was an angel, he was starting to look like regular old Cas. 

Dean took another gulp of beer. Well. With one very human exception. 

Claire raised her hands and let out a loud whoop as she crossed the finish line first, miles in front. Cas frowned petulantly and leaned forward on the couch, demanding a rematch. 

Jody fell into the seat next to Dean, a colorless pile of food on her dinner plate. “Hot dish is ready,” she said flatly.

“I’ll pass,” Dean scoffed. “I value my life too much.”

Chuckling, Jody poked her fork into a tater tot. “Hey. We do crazy things for the people we love.” 

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was picking a new character to play with on the screen. “Yeah. Guess we do.” 

Jody took another bite, grimacing. “You know. When you get back to that bunker of yours, I’d put some angel warding up, if you haven’t already.” 

Dean glanced at her. “Why’s that?”

“They’ve been more subtle about it, but Gabriel tells me that he guesses there’s more angels than demons that got out. And from what I know about Cas’s history, they probably won’t be too happy with him.” 

“Yeah.” Dean swiped a hand down his face, sighing. “Yeah, he didn’t exactly make friends in Heaven over the years.”

“Probably nothing to worry about.” Jody shrugged. “But you can’t be too careful.” 

Dean nodded in agreement, his fingers drumming against his beer bottle. Angels after Cas, out for revenge, while he was too human and too depowered to protect himself. He itched at his chest. 

“Gonna get some air,” he muttered, standing abruptly. 

Jody put down her fork and frowned. “Why? You all right?”

“Peachy.” Dean shot her a likely unconvincing smile. “Be back in a minute.” He strode across the living room to avoid any more questions. Pulling open the sliding glass door to the backyard, the quickest escape he could find, he stepped onto the porch. 

The air was crisp and fresh, the sun just having set low in the sky. Dean leaned against the porch railing, beer hanging over the side. His knee bounced, hitting the wooden slats, the familiar itch to take off running, to walk straight into those trees and try to escape into something that at least made sense. 

He’d have to brush up on the angel warding. He broke some of them a few years ago, when Cas was visiting the bunker more. But it wouldn’t matter now, with Cas being the human he was. Jack wouldn’t be able to visit, but it was a sacrifice they’d have to make. Dean could try to give Cas some lessons in self-defense, too. As an angel he could take a few stabs and not get hurt. As a human…

Dean clenched his jaw, letting out a sharp breath through his nose. “God damn it,” he muttered.

The door behind him slid open. Dean cleared his throat and swiped a quick hand over his eyes before turning to Cas, who stood with his hand still on the door handle. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. 

“Sure.” Dean took a fortifying gulp of beer, waving a hand. “Things getting too competitive in there?” 

Cas pulled the sliding door close, his footsteps vibrating the porch as he walked toward Dean. “Kaia started playing, and it got… intense.” 

“Sam get a hold of a controller, too?” 

“Unfortunately.”

“He playing as Princess Peach?”

“If that’s the blonde woman, then yes,” Cas replied, propping his elbows onto the railing. 

“Figures,” Dean snorted. He twisted the beer between his hands as silence fell between them. A raven crowed in the distance from atop one of the trees. 

Cas turned to Dean. “You know, we don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever it is you’re avoiding me for.” 

Dean scoffed, holding the mouth of the beer bottle to his lips. “I’m not avoiding—”

“You refuse to be in the same room as me if it means we’ll be alone. You seem nervous whenever I talk to you.”

“Okay, but—”

“And if this is just to avoid an awkward conversation, or a rejection you think I’ll be upset about, it’s—it’s fine.” Cas pressed his lips in a firm line. “You don’t need to tell me. I can already extrapolate. And I want to tell you that it’s fine.” 

Dean stared at Cas incredulously. “A _rejection_? Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Cas stared back. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me, isn’t it? Because of what I… said? What you saw in my dreams while we were in the Empty?”

“Because of… what, Cas, no.” Dean held out a hand, waving it toward him. “I’m avoiding you because of… _this_.” 

Cas looked down at himself, picking at his sweatshirt. “Because of my appearance?”

“No, you idiot, because—because you’re human. Because I freaking forced you to do it.” 

“ _Forced_ me?” Cas sputtered. 

“Listen, I—” Dean pointed a finger, “—I said to use your grace that I had in me to get us both out. You said it would be enough. You said—”

“It was a gamble,” Cas interrupted. “I knew it would be a gamble, that I could have burned all my grace.” 

“So you burned that grace to just get me out, again. You sacrificed yourself just to have me live, _again_.” 

“I did what I thought was right,” Cas said firmly. “There wasn’t time to think. And you would have done the same.”

“I said to _fight_ ,” Dean said, slamming his beer onto the railing. “I said to fight and get out together. Not go back to square one, where you could die and start the whole damn thing over again.” 

“Start what over again?” Cas asked.

“You really want me to say it?” When Cas didn’t reply, just stared at him in shock, Dean threw up a hand. “Jesus, Cas, you—you said that your voice was you the whole time. You _saw_ how I was after you… after—” He gripped the railing tight. “You saw how I was.”

“Dean…” Cas reached toward him; seemed to think the better of it, and dropped his hand. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.” 

“I know. I know that.” Dean ran his sleeve over his nose, sniffing. He clenched his jaw harder. “I know why you did it—hell, I would have too. And I know your sacrifices are your choices. I know that. I just… I couldn’t…” 

“Dean,” Cas said softly. 

“And now you’re human, your life is fucked up again because of—because of me, and I just can’t handle that Cas. I can’t do it. I can’t—”

Cas’s hand moved, and clutched Dean’s arm. Dean looked down at his hand, and then Cas’s face.

“Let me tell you exactly how I’m feeling, because I think you need to hear it.” Cas said the words gently, although his hand gripping Dean’s sleeve was firm. “When I sacrificed myself to save you from Billie, it was because I wanted you to live. When you told me to fight in the Empty, to find a third option—I took that gamble because I wanted to find a way to live, too.” 

Dean swallowed hard, his body going still. Cas’s face softened into a smile. 

“I know being human is a sacrifice. But my grace has been fading for years. I’m not… _upset_ with this choice. I’m joyful. Grateful.” 

Swiping a hand over his mouth, Dean shook his head, frowned down at Cas’s hand. _This isn’t a love story,_ Chuck mocked in his mind. “But it’s my fault,” Dean said softly. “You went to the Empty to save me, and I couldn’t even get you out in one piece. I told you to pick that third option, and look what it got you.” 

“I didn’t go into this choice blindly,” Cas said. “I knew it’d be a possibility, being human.” 

Shame thrummed through Dean’s body as he choked out, “If you knew—”

“But Dean—this _was_ my choice.” Cas gripped his arm tighter, his eyes determined. “When I gave myself up to the Empty, it was to keep you safe. And I could have stayed there forever, sacrificed myself again. But this time I chose to keep you safe— _and_ choose to live.” Cas tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips. “It wasn’t a sacrifice, giving up my grace. It was a gift.” 

Dean shook his head, blinking rapidly at the moisture gathering in his eyes. “I think you gotta rethink what your definition of a ‘gift’ is, Cas,” he mumbled, looking away. 

Cas took a step closer, his gaze intent. “And I think you need to trust me when I say I don’t blame you. How could I, when… when you inspired me to choose free will in the first place.” His face softened. “Loving you isn’t a tragedy, Dean.” 

His chest tight, Dean released a quick breath. Shook his head. “You can’t mean all that, you can’t… think I’m worth it.” 

Cas’s thumb stroked across the groove of Dean’s elbow, making him shiver. “You’re worth more than I could ever find the words for.”

The warmth of Cas’s hand seeped through Dean’s thin jacket. Tears pressed at his eyes. “I missed you so much, Cas,” he said hoarsely. 

They both moved together, so synchronized it was hard to tell who moved first. The beer knocked off the railing as Dean’s arms tangled with Cas’s, as their chests fell into each other. Cas’s hands clutched at his back; Dean’s tangled into Cas’s hair. He buried his face into Cas’s shoulder, breathing in his scent—human now, but still familiar, electric and stormy and other-worldly. 

Dean was never good with words. Even with his own brother, someone he’d tell anything to, his words often got lost, stuttered. It was hard to say what he meant. But doing—that he was capable of. That he could do. 

He pulled back from Cas’s shoulder, his lips grazing Cas’s cheek as he went. He caught a glimpse of blue, wide eyes before he leaned in again, this time his hands gently framing Cas’s face as he clumsily kissed the corner of his mouth. Cas’s breath caught as Dean’s thumbs stroked the hinges of his jaw. 

Dean tilted his forehead against Cas’s, their breaths mingling. “Is this okay?” he whispered. “Am I…” 

“Yes.” Cas rested a hand against the side of Dean’s jaw; Dean leaned into it, desperately, brushing his lips against Cas’s palm. “Yes, of course.” 

Dean’s lips found Cas’s. The kisses started slow and mesmerizing, punching the breath out of them. Then Cas’s hands found Dean’s waist, pulling him closer, and Dean’s hand tilted Cas’s chin to deepen the kiss, and Dean found himself somehow pressed against the railing, Cas glued to him like there was no tomorrow. He shivered as Cas’s hands rose to press against his neck, his jaw. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Cas whispered against Dean’s lips. “How much I thought I would never have it. Never…” 

“You have me.” Dean tilted down to kiss Cas’s neck, the bolt of his jaw. “You have me, Cas. You always did.” 

“I didn’t feel like I deserved it. Didn’t deserve you.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Dean said against Cas’s bare skin, making him shiver. “That’s such complete bullshit.”

Cas’s chest rumbled as he softly laughed. “You thought the same.” 

Dean traveled back up Cas’s neck, punctuating his displeasure with kisses. He couldn’t help but smile against Cas’s lips. They softly broke away, their foreheads resting against each other. Dean ran his hands up and down Cas’s arms, his hands shaky.

“When I thought I lost you…” He took a breath, feeling Cas’s hands spasm against his shoulders. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would never have this chance. That… that I was too late in realizing that you had a way to love me. That angels could feel that way..” 

“I didn’t know I could either.” Cas ran a gentle hand through Dean’s hair, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But I did. I do. And I always have.” 

Dean took Cas’s hand, frowning down at it. “And I didn’t say to you all the things I wanted. And I regretted that. You said all those things to me, and I was just… shocked. And angry. Angry at myself, at the shitty timing, at…” 

“I know I took away your choice, when I made the deal.” Cas brushed a thumb against Dean’s cheekbone, frowning. “I’m sorry for that.” 

“That’s not the point, it’s just—” Dean took a steadying breath, gripping Cas’s fingers more tightly against his. “I love you, Cas. I’ve loved you for… I don’t even know how damn long. And it’s been killing me not to say it.”

Cas looked up at Dean, eyes wide. “You…” 

“And it’s not gonna be butterflies with me. I’m not… I’m not built for this. Relationships, being normal, whatever. But since you made that deal with the Empty, even through all the freaking grief and everything I just… I realized that it doesn’t always have to be that way. We can have more than that. We _deserve_ more than that.”

Cas’s face blossomed into a smile. “There’s no Chuck. No apocalypse.” 

“Yeah. Exactly, we—we can do whatever we want.” Dean grabbed Cas’s hand, feeling a laugh bubble up in his chest even though he didn’t know why. Felt like he was splintering into a hundred pieces, but each was showing him a new way to be whole. “I can help you build a garden on that hill you like so much. Vegetables, flowers—doesn't matter."

Cas chuckled. “You don’t know how to garden.”

“I’ll learn, then,” Dean said, throwing up a hand. “And I won’t even make fun of you for listening to those musicals you like, or Sibelius. I’ll suffer through them all, Cas. We can visit Claire and Jody in South Dakota, hang out with Jack too whenever he wants. And we can go on walks, argue about dumb things like politics or talk about the weather or bees or what we’re gonna make for dinner and… and we can…” 

Cas smiled widely, looking up at Dean. “And we can live.” 

“Yeah.” Dean grinned. He wound his fingers with Cas’s, carefully kissing one of Cas's knuckles. “Not saying it’ll be easy. But it’s a start.” 

A moment passed; Cas’s face broke into a smile. "It's a start," he whispered.

He held Dean’s face in two gentle hands, guiding his lips to his. Dean couldn’t help the smile that stretched his lips, the lightness he felt as he skimmed his hands across Cas’s skin. There was a warmth in his chest that glowed as he pressed his chest against Cas’s, not a breath of space between them. 

The glass door slid open, squeaky rubber on plastic. Dean and Cas paused, still tangled in each other, glancing at the sound. Claire stood in the doorway, arm outstretched and hand on the handle, her mouth unhinged and gaping. 

They all stared for a long, loaded moment. Claire hung her head and groaned. “Great. Now I owe Sam twenty bucks.” She turned back toward the living room, her voice carrying as she called, “Hey, Jack, don’t come out here, your dads are making out.” 

Cas let out a suffering sigh. Dean tipped his head back, his full laugh ricocheting across the tops of the trees before grabbing Cas’s waist and pulling him back in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for the epilogue next week:')) (where i will post more details about the sequel too!!) as always, i'd absolutely love to know what you think (and i'm slowly replying to each and one of your lovely comments, i promise!!) 
> 
> and also AS ALWAYS, please scream at me [on my tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/) if you so desire :')


	12. to even exist (epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll save my goodbyes until the end. for now, enjoy the chapter <3
> 
> (by the way, if you're tuning in weekly, I added a small part of dialogue to the last chapter that I thought would get into the epilogue, but didn't. it's at the end of the chapter, after Dean says that he loves Cas)

Cas landed on the couch next to Dean, the cushions bouncing from his weight. The beer in Dean’s lap sloshed over the side. Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas, who was situating himself under a blanket and looking oblivious. 

“Hey, yell timber next time, will ya?”

Cas looked over at him innocently. He held out the bowl of popcorn that he clutched to his chest. “Do you want any?”

Dean fought a grin. With Cas looking that cute, he couldn’t stay irritated for long. “You know I do.” He popped a fistful of buttery kernels into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of beer. “What movie did you pick?”

“‘Chicago’.”

“Hang on, _again_?”

“You told me you’d watch it a hundred times with me,” Cas said. 

“Can’t hold a drunk man’s word against him, Cas.” 

Cas raised an eyebrow, finger poised over the remote. With a resigned sigh, Dean waved his hand. He loved the movie, who the hell was he kidding. “Yeah, yeah, push play.”

With a satisfied smirk, Cas started the movie, leaning back into the couch cushions. Dean put an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pressed a kiss against the side of his head as the credits rolled; Cas snuggled in close. 

It’d been a month since Cas got out of the Empty. Demons were still causing havoc in pockets of the country, and, according to Gabriel, a faction of vengeful angels were still looking for Cas. Everyone, even Cas, reluctantly, agreed that it’d be best for him to stay in the bunker hiding out until he got used to his human legs. Occasionally he’d accompany Dean to Lebanon for a grocery run, or take walks outside by the bunker, but otherwise stayed shut in. It was boring, Dean knew, for Cas to be caged away like this. 

He once had enough power to move mountains. Now he was hiding out from the rest of the angels, sigils painted all over the bunker’s walls to hide from them. 

But he was taking it surprisingly well—even though there were a few times when Dean had to drag Cas to the shooting range just to work off his restlessness. 

Cas had asked him, almost weekly, if Dean staying behind to keep him company instead of hunting with Sam and Eileen bothered him. Every time, Dean honestly replied that he wasn’t bored.

It was actually the happiest month of his life. 

Dean and Cas were most alone that whole month, since Eileen and Sam were in and out with hunts, busy with the influx of demon activity. They hadn’t even spent every moment together, which Dean hadn’t even minded. With all the time they had, there was no rush. Cas could read a book in the library while Dean polished guns in the armory, meeting a few hours later to have a quiet dinner together. They could watch a movie in Dean’s self-appointed man cave, kissing lazily until the credits rolled. They could fall asleep next to each other in the same bed one night, then sleep separately the next. It was calm. Unhurried. 

Dean sneaked a peek at Cas’s profile, at the furrowed concentration on his brow as he watched the screen. Last night, over a dinner of homemade burgers, was the first time Cas mentioned wanting to go out and try hunting again. Something about wanting to help Eileen with a nest of vampires she’d found in North Dakota. Dean barely listened to him over the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

Cas glanced over at him, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean blinked out of his thoughts, turning to the screen. “Fine.”

“Dean.” Cas’s tone was insistent.

Pressing his finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, Dean let out a sigh. “I just… this is enough for you, right?”

“Do you mean the movie? Yes, because I picked it out.”

“No, genius, just— _this_ ,” Dean said exasperatedly, pointing between them. “Sittin’ here, watching movies, you eating my food every night, like… aren’t you going crazy?”

Cas pressed his lips together. “Is this about what I said last night? Wanting to try hunting?” 

“You haven’t even hit a bullseye with a gun yet, Cas.” 

“I hit the targets,” Cas insisted. 

“And what if you don’t get a vampire right in the end when it’s coming at you? Huh? What’ll you do then?”

Cas frowned. His fingers fiddled with a button on Dean’s flannel—a nervous habit Dean noticed Cas had picked up in his time as human. “Is that why you don’t want me to do it? You’re worried I can’t take care of myself?”

“No, just...” Dean shifted on the couch, sighing. “I’d go too. Obviously. So you’d have someone to watch your six besides Eileen.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “Guess I thought you’d like hanging out here longer or something.” 

Cas’s fingers stilled. He raised his head off Dean’s shoulder, the movie pausing as he pressed a button. “You’re worried about this ending.”

Dean scoffed, eating another nervous handful of popcorn. “If you’re talking about the movie, then yeah, I’m pretty sure it never will if you keep pausing it.”

“You’re worried about when I leave our ‘bubble’, or so you’ve called it before. About me being out in the world..”

Letting out a sigh, Dean unwound his arm from around Cas’s shoulders. Cas always looked past the veil of his jokes. It was unsettling.He studied his hands. “I’m not kidding myself or anything, Cas. I know you’re getting restless, that this isn’t enough. And you’re acclimating to being human and all, and—yeah. I know the next step here. I’m just… wonderin’ when I have to start preparing myself, I guess.”

Cas’s leg came out of nowhere, swinging around Dean’s waist as he slid across the couch to climb on Dean’s lap. Dean grunted as Cas’s full weight came down on his lap. He placed his hands on Cas’s waist, unable to keep the smile off his face as Cas leaned down to kiss him. 

“I know this move,” Dean murmured against Cas’s lips. “I _invented_ this move. You can’t distract me that easily.”

His fingers dancing across Dean’s arms, eliciting a shiver, Cas said, “I’ve loved my time with you, Dean. Our days together have been _more_ than enough. We’ve finally been able to live like we don’t have an apocalypse to stop, or an angry god to appease.” He ran a hand through Dean’s hair, his fingers gently scratching at Dean’s scalp. “That doesn’t have to change.”

“But it’s going to.” Dean’s hands gripped Cas’s waist tighter. “You and me hunting again, goin’ out there…” 

“We’re not alone this time,” Cas said firmly. “Sam and Eileen have already begun to build the hunter network. Jody and Donna, everyone there are always ready to help, and… we have each other.” He smiled, his hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck. “Without Chuck, we can pave our own path. Nothing is set in stone. The story isn’t written. That’s the difference.”

Dean’s hands found Cas’s, weaving their fingers together. He ran his thumbs over the top of Cas’s hands. “You know what I want?”

Cas’s smile grew bigger. “Tell me.”

Dean lifted his eyes to stare into Cas’s. There, he saw his future, embedded in the blue: a life where they can choose. Where they could hunt, or not hunt. Where they could get a house, or stay in the bunker. Where they could see their family whenever they wanted to. Whatever they chose, whatever path they took, it meant that they could cut out their own corner in the world, tucked away from the dangers and horrors.

He saw him and Cas, building a life—together.

“Dean?” Cas prompted again, tilting his head. “What do you want?”

Dean grinned. Tapped at Cas’s nose. “To start the movie. And make out with you the whole time.”

Gently guiding Dean’s lips back to his for another kiss, Cas murmured, “ _That_ we can definitely do.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right. where do i even start. 
> 
> this story has been amazing, but strange, to write. i feel like i've gone through ever stage of grief about the finale 4 times. on one hand, i'm sad to end this arc of the story, because i've LOVED sharing it with all of you - but on the other hand, i'm relieved. I'm excited to write a sequel with these fools and just kind of do whatever I want with the canon world rather than trying to fix somebody else's (coughsinger&dabbcough) mess. But overall it's been healing. And now I'm ready to let the finale completely go.
> 
> AND ON THE SUBJECT OF THAT "ascend" is going to be a series!! I have a sequel in mind for sure, and possibly more after that... maybe even a season 16 sort of deal. i don't know yet! but like i implied in this epilogue, the possibilities are truly endless. here's two ways you can stay up to date with me posting that:
> 
> -subscribe to my ao3 profile  
> -subscribe to the 'ascend' series that this fic is now part of 
> 
> thank you all SO MUCH for your comments, feedback, screaming on my tumblr... i appreciate every single one of you. i really hope to see you all in the next installment of the fic, whenever i post that. ETA is a bit hazy right now - I'm working on another destiel au and an original fic right now (hoping to publish a gay ghost novel in the future eeee), but my hope is that I'll be able to work on this sequel in the next few months. 
> 
> until then, stay safe and stay sane. I love you all<3 and as always, [my tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com) is available for you to scream in.


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